


Siberian Nights

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Assassins & Hitmen, Banjo is a corrupt af police chief, Blood and Violence, Car Sex, Corruption, Doctor Fear is a creepy mortician, Holly is a cold-cutting lawyer, Lawyers, Not, Private Investigators, Ricky's a sexy sexy assassin, Rough Sex, Tinsley's a slutty private detective, as per usual, both are incredibly unethical and dishonorable but that's why it's fun, it's all very romantic, the whole gang is back really, they also fuck in a bathroom stall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: Holly Horsley's client is murdered. She hires private detective C.C. Tinsley to find out the who, what, and why of the situation at hand. Tinsley is a liar, a cheater, and a general bad person, who's not afraid of the grittier details in life. This is why she believes he can do it.But what happens when he comes head-to-head with a wily hitman who is just as determined to come out alive as he is?





	1. Observation

**Author's Note:**

> the fic is entirely based off this song 
> 
> https://youtu.be/GPihf76AS9I 
> 
> hence the title. hope u enjoy !!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a warning, everyone in this is fuckin evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a teeny bit of nsfw and also the entire fic is pretty gritty so let's get down 2 it babyyy

"I'm sorry sir, but the scene is off-bounds. The forensics team are in there."

He raised a gloved hand, rifling through his wallet with the other. "Hold on, hold on, I have a pass."

"A pass?" The guard on duty snorted. "That's not how it works."

"It's from the stiff's lawyer." He finally found the signed form, unfolding it and handing it out. He passed his licence with it. "See? All official. That's Ms Horsley's signature right there, nice and clear. Or perhaps not. She kind of scrawls."

The guard squinted at it. "I don't know if I can let you in on this, Mr... Tinsley."

Tinsley rolled his eyes, his head falling back with the effort of the gesture. "Look, just- Is Banjo around?"

"Banjo?"

"Bernard. The chief."

"No, not yet. The force are allowed in _after_ the forensics team are done, not all at the same time. This isn't a movie, man."

"I know it's not a movie, smart guy. Is Fear in there?"

The guard's brows drew together. "Uh, yeah. He is."

"He's a friend. Tell him I'm out here and I just want a quick looksie." He raised his hands. "I won't touch anything, I promise. Tell him that. Tell him I promise."

The guard reluctantly went to do so. He came back and drew the tape aside into the corridor and waved Tinsley in. Tinsley gave him a grateful smile. Usually he'd drop some snarky comment or other, but it was handy to be on good terms with officers, no matter the rank. He went to room 301, and he was met right at the doorway by a thin little man hidden inside a white PPE suit. He passed a pair of blue rubber gloves to Tinsley with a stern look from behind his thick-framed glasses. The thickness of the lenses made his pale eyes seem comically large, despite the strict look they were currently sporting. Tinsley pulled the gloves on with two satisfied snaps.

"Thanks, Doctor."

"Don't touch anything, you hear me?" 

"Loud and clear."

Tinsley took off his black coat and left it outside the room. He pulled his tie off over his head too, just in case it swung around and contaminated this or that. Then he stepped into the room. It was dark and dingy and it smelled of sweat and sex. The curtains were still drawn. The forensics team were as eerily silent as ever, floating around like ghosts. Tinsley observed the body on the bed. His nether regions had been covered for decency, but other than that he hadn't been touched. He was still tied by his wrists to the headboard. Tinsley counted the stab wounds in his chest; twenty-five. He leaned in closer, going to push his glasses up along his pointy nose as he did so.

"No!" Fear pointed at him from across the room. "Don't touch your face! You'll contaminate the gloves, you idiot."

Tinsley set his jaw at this. Any other time and he would've shot back with some acidic comment, but this was Fear's area of expertise, and he was a key asset too. "Okay. Sorry."

He gave the back of his head a lingering glare before going back to the body. He looked closely at the stab wounds. They were about the size of a large pen knife, give or take. He straightened up before speaking, so as not to breathe on the body.

"Looks like a bit of a vengeance hit."

Fear straightened up, along with his assistant in the doorway. "Yes, I agree. Those stab wounds are very erratic, very deep too."

"Yeah, there's definitely anger behind them. Not too sure if it's a crime of passion, though, or a planned hit."

"That's not for me to comment on," replied Fear airily, going back to the desk he was carefully swabbing for prints. "I find the what, the when, the how. Not the who or why."

"I know, I know. I'm just brainstorming." He wanted to rub at his mouth pensively, but he couldn't, not with the gloves on. No wonder Fear was always so antsy at these places. Couldn't move an inch without contaminating something or other. "Any CCTV around?"

"CCTV?" Fear's voice was slightly muffled behind his fabric mask. "It's a motel room."

"I know. And a seedy one too." He gave the room a slow sweeping gaze. "Bear with me a moment."

He checked the alarm clock, closely. He checked the adapter plugged into the wall. He checked each pen on the desk, despite Fear's grumbling. His gaze landed on the smoke detector in the corner of the ceiling. He picked up a chair and placed it underneath before climbing up onto it, not that he needed much extra height. In fact, with the chair, he had to crouch a bit so that his head didn't go through the ceiling. He twisted the smoke detector one way, then the other. It came off its grip. He hopped down and brought it closer to the window, despite the curtains still being drawn.

"What are you doing?" asked the assistant, his fabric mask pulled right over his mouth and nose. The white hood of his suit seemed a bit too big for him, almost covering his eyes.

"Checking for cameras." Tinsley cracked the detector open with a grin. "Bingo."

The assistant stared at him for a long moment before Fear said: "Well, what do you know, Tinsley. You found something."

"Yeah."

"Bag it up and leave it for the cops."

"I know, I know. Even though I found it, I suppose they can take the credit." He bagged it and placed it on the desk. "Any murder weapon?"

Fear nodded at the box on the floor, where there were multiple clear plastic bags with an object in each. One contained a hair. One contained a bar of used soap. One was, unpleasantly, a used condom. Tinsley skipped over that. He picked up the pack with a knife handle in it.

"Oh."

"Yeah, it was just the handle."

"No it's not. It's a butterfly knife. The blade's inside the handle."

Fear blinked his pale eyes at this. "Ah, yes. You're quite correct."

 _Idiot_. Tinsley put the blade back into the box. "When's the autopsy taking place?"

"We're taking the body with us when we're done."

"Fantastic. Can I tag along?"

Fear pursed his lips at this, eyes narrowing. "As long as you keep your mouth in check."

"Will do, Doctor."

The assistant picked up the box in blue-gloved hands. He mumbled: "I'll take this out to the car."

Tinsley arched an eyebrow at the unfamiliar voice. They must've been hiring. He caught a flash of black eyes lined with silky black lashes that any woman would've killed to have. Then the man strolled out with the box in his arms. Tinsley watched him go, but he wasn't exactly seeing him. He was thinking, hard.

"I'll be right back."

He took off the gloves once he was outside the room, tossing them into the small bin. He shrugged his coat back on, the high collar brushing his jaw. He half-heartedly put his tie back on. He passed by the guard on duty, heading down the adjoining hall towards the foyer. The place smelled like stale coffee and old cigarettes. Tinsley eyed the reception area; a worn-looking desk, peeling almost as much as the wallpaper. There was no one at it. Tinsley moved over to it anyway, studying the cheap drip coffee maker crumbling on the edge of the desk. It was currently dripping, but it didn’t look like coffee. Tinsley let a hand drift out distractedly to the open A4 diary. He turned it to face him with a lazy twist of his wrist. The writing was undecipherable. He had a feeling this was on purpose. He took out his phone and snapped a quick shot. A loud moan came down from an adjoining corridor. He pulled a face; it wasn’t that convincing.

“Can I help you?”

Tinsley turned his head the other way, looking down at the face that was just as weedy and sneaky as the voice. “Yeah. There was a murder here yesterday. I'm a bit surprised you're still open."

The man smiled from under his pencil moustache. “Business as usual, I’m afraid.”

“Right.” Tinsley turned away, turning back on the same heel with the same movement. “Bit of a cheap place you have here.”

“People get what they pay for,” came the snide reply. The thin little man sat down on his seat. He frowned at his book, turning it back around to face him. He gave Tinsley a narrow-eyed scan.

“And are you happy to work for such low rates?”

He got a beady-eyed blink in response. “Yes.”

“And how’s that?”

A slimy smile. “I’ve always had a soft spot for the poor and desperate, detective.”

Tinsley looked down his nose at him, pensive. “Where are they.”

A silence with barbs on it. “Where are what.”

“The DVDs. From you recording the rooms.”

The man flushed. “I don’t have any.”

“Yes you do.” Tinsley tilted his head aside, a perfectly condescending gesture. “Now fork over the disc for the room where the murder happened, or I’ll come back with a warrant and a lawyer friend of mine who has a strong dislike for the poor and desperate.” He put out a hand, palm up. “Gimme.”

The man had stopped blushing. His face was a waxy pale now. “I- I can’t. I’ll get in trouble."

“I don’t care.” Tinsley lowered his hand, giving the top of the desk a knock with his knuckles. “Hand over the disc. Now.”

“I’ll get in trouble, I’ll-”

“You’ll be in ten times the trouble if you _don’t_ give me the damn disc,” said Tinsley with sudden ferocity. “Get it. _Now_.”

The man shivered a bit. He reached out a thin hand to the set of drawers beside him. He took a key from his breast pocket and unlocked them. He drew out the DVD case from countless others, holding it in both hands for a few long seconds. He looked at Tinsley, eyes big and wide and ineffective. Tinsley snatched the DVD from his hand once he was close enough, giving him a disgusted look from under his brows. He turned it over, looking for a label. There was none.

“Please destroy it after you see it,” said the man, wringing his bony hands. “Don’t say you saw it. Please.”

“Yeah. For sure.” Tinsley was already halfway out the door, shoving the case into his coat pocket. It was cold out; he pulled his gloves back on over his long fingers. “Ta.”

He watched it the second he got in; the cops could see it later. He made himself a coffee and popped the DVD into his laptop and sat back to enjoy the show. The lighting was a bit dark, but it was still possible to make out shapes. There was a man in the room, just his shoulder in the frame. He was wandering back and forth. He used his hips a lot when he did so. He seemed to be talking to himself, practicing some dialogue; his lips were visible moving whenever he turned sidelong. His silhouette was relatively small, and somehow just a tad familiar. The familiarity was niggling. Tinsley watched him closely.

The door opened, and in came another man, bigger. He was the dead guy. He wandered to the end of the bed and seemed to be chit-chatting away quite comfortably indeed. Tinsley watched as the shorter figure moved towards him. He seemed to be unbuttoning his shirt. He let it fall off him to the floor before he pushed up on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck and kissed him on the mouth. Tinsley raised his eyebrows, sitting forwards as the two figures in the video got down to it. He set his coffee aside, resting his elbows on the table, fingers intertwined under his chin. The smaller man got on top of the other, straddling him, his silhouetted shape smooth and strong. Tinsley felt his heart pick up. He blamed it on the coffee.

The two men in the video swiftly got down to it. Tinsley rubbed a hand over his mouth, letting it settle there, his eyes watching as the man on top started tying the other’s hands over his head with a strip of fabric. Tinsley cleared his throat. He couldn’t take his eyes off the guy, off the shape of his body, off the movement of his hips, the way he rode the man under him with such vigor it was bordering on violent. His heart was skipping in his chest. _The coffee_ , he told himself. _Just the coffee_. He pushed his hair back off his face.

He was brought back to reality quite swiftly indeed. The man on top leaned back, his hands slipping under the covers, and brought out a knife, the slim shape and sharp tip clear in its silhouette. He didn’t hesitate in driving it down into the other man’s chest, repeatedly, with such viciousness the blood splattered the walls in black. Twenty-five times. Tinsley already knew that. He stared, stared until it was over. He continued staring as the killer got off the bed, taking a moment to wipe the blade clean on the dying man’s shirt lying on the ground. The killer got dressed quite leisurely, giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror before leaving. He shut the door behind him.

Tinsley stopped the DVD. He sat back, running his hands down his face, eyes closed. He took the disc out, turning it in his long fingers. It flashed in the light from the bulb above. It wasn’t exactly valuable. It didn’t reveal anything they didn’t already know. The killer was a male, around 5’9’’, and he murdered him with a knife. All the DVD had revealed was that the guy was good in bed, which wasn’t exactly helpful. Tinsley tapped the disc against the table repeatedly, dropping it and catching it in rapid succession. He spun it around a finger. He wouldn’t hand it over to Holly. Who knew what would happen to that brothel owner. He should just keep it. He put it back in its case and moved to the drawer under the oven and dropped it in. He stood for a while with his hands on his hips, gaze stuck to the drawer. Then he went to the window and smoked a cigarette.

His phone rang. He pulled a face at the ID before answering reluctantly. "Hi, Doctor."

His voice was spluttered. "Did you take the evidence?!"

Tinsley pulled a baffled face. "What?"

"Did you take the bloody box of evidence from the room!" He was almost screeching. "It's gone, the whole damn thing is gone!"

"I- No, no! I swear, I didn't take it, man. Jeez." He thought about it. "I saw your assistant bringing it out to the car just before I left."

"I don't have an assistant, you buffoon. And we use a van, not a car."

"Short guy, dark eyes, kind of tan skin?"

The silence fell heavy. Fear's voice sounded weak.

"I don't have any idea who that was."

Tinsley stared at the alley outside his window, blank. "He- He was there when I arrived. I just thought he was new."

"No, no, I haven't hired anyone in months."

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit! He took the whole box of evidence! All of it!"

"I- I might have something else." Tinsley scrambled the DVD from the drawer, suddenly feeling very on edge indeed. "Meet me in Banjo's office in twenty."

He hung up. He stood at the window and raked a hand through his thick hair. He looked down the alley, at the few people who wandered back and forth along the path at the end. It had started to rain, painting the world in deep shades of oily blue. One figure paused, a black silhouette, seeming to look right back at him for a second before continuing on. Tinsley felt his heart skip unpleasantly. He took hold of the window, but before he could close it a familiar figure hopped onto the fire escape. The ginger cat purred. Tinsley closed his eyes and let out a sharp sigh. He let the cat in, as he so often did. He crouched down and gave it a little scratch under the chin.

"You can hang around in here until I get back. And if it's still raining then, you can stay the night. Yeah?"

" _Mrrow_."

"Yeah."

He slipped his coat on and turned the collar up and left the apartment. The cat sat in the kitchen, the only room with a light left on. 

* * *

He hovered outside the door for a moment. A neighbour passed by, her brows raised questioningly. He smiled at her, if only to make her blush and continue on without nosing around. When the elevator doors dinged shut, he took his knife from his pocket, wedging it into the door between the lock and the frame. He wiggled it around, tongue between his teeth. He rammed his shoulder into the door, feeling the knife slip further in. It caught the latch and he swept it open. He stepped into the apartment, closing the door after him. It was dark, only the kitchen light left on. A low sound made him yelp, whipping around to face the source. The ginger cat stared up at him with suspicious eyes. It meowed again, lower, almost like a growl.

“Of course he has a cat,” he muttered, shooing it away. It padded away to sit and watch him from around a doorway. “Stay there.”

He wandered along the narrow hall, keeping an eye out for an office. There didn’t seem to be one. This was quite a confusing concept to him. Where did people do their work if they didn’t have an office? Why didn’t they eat cake if there was no bread? He slowed as he passed the bedroom, leaning back to peer in. It was dimly lit due to the single window behind the bed, the milky blue of moonlight. He moved to the bed, looking down at the messy sheets and thrown back duvet. The pillows were bunched up, an old grey t-shirt dumped on them. He picked it up with a gloved hand, tutting.

“Doesn’t even wear proper pajamas. Animal.”

Another indignant _mrrp_ made him glare over his shoulder. The ginger cat retreated a few steps, one green eye glinting as it watched him. Ricky threw it a sidelong scowl, pausing as he finally spotted the desk in the corner. He turned on the lamp, the soft glow adding some warmth to the room. The desk itself was empty of anything relevant. Apart from the phone. Ricky worked quickly. He took the receiver apart and examined the microphone, closely. A tiny drop-in transmitter, no larger than a raisin, was glued to the cavity of the receiver and held in place for ten seconds, give or take. When the glue was firm, Ricky replaced the microphone and put the phone back together before putting it back on the hook. Then he rifled through the pages on the desk, chucking them back onto it without care. He crouched down in front of the drawers, pulling at the one with the keyhole. His balisong made a swift return; he jammed it in as far as it would go, wiggling it with a vengeance. The drawer popped open, revealing itself to be entirely empty but for a loaded gun. Ricky picked it up, turning it over in his hands, black against black. He turned his head and looked at the cat. He took aim.

“Pew,” he said, the Sig lifting with the imaginary kickback. He looked down at it again. “Hm. Not bad.”

He put it back in, shutting the drawer. He went back out into the kitchen before going over to the wall above the small table. He took a small nail from one of his inside pockets and drove it into the drywall, nice and neat. Then he took it out, putting it back into his pocket. A thin black cylinder was carefully slotted into the hole, and he cemented it in place with a small dab of black epoxy. One microphone for the kitchen would be more than enough. Or would it? The private detective was a loose cannon, they hadn't expected him to wander into the picture. He'd have to be monitored closely.

Ricky's phone pinged to alert him that the detective had left the station. Ricky whistled through his teeth, his brows knitting. He hadn’t gotten too far here. The DVD or video or whatever the camera had recorded on was nowhere to be found. He supposed he could come back some other time. The cat hissed at him as he left.

He crossed the street to the small coffee shop that sat solitary in the rain. He ordered a cappuccino and sat with it in the window, leaning back in the armchair and crossing his legs as he watched the door to the apartments. The guy wouldn't be hard to spot. He had a pretty distinctive face, with his pointy nose and quiet eyes behind his clear-framed glasses. He had a pretty distinctive body too; tall and broad-shouldered, six-four or six-five, and he walked with a lilting gait. His hands were clean and neat and long-fingered, and he wore a watch with a leather strap on his left wrist. He had stubble bordering on a beard which indicated perhaps five days without shaving. He had a light bruise where his neck met his shoulder, which perhaps was not a plain bruise, although there hadn't been any indication of a partner in his apartment. Ricky sipped his coffee pensively before pulling a face, glaring at the drink. He placed it aside with disdain.

"Don't like the coffee?"

Ricky looked at the waitress sidelong from under his black lashes. She was pretty, and she was looking at him with lusty eyes. "No. Tastes like burnt water."

"Oh, that's too bad." She leaned on the armchair across from him, making sure to stick her hips out with appropriate suggestiveness. "Anything else I can get you?"

Ricky opened his mouth to say that women weren't really his type, before pausing. "How long have you worked here?"

She shrugged. "A few years, I guess."

He smiled, a gesture dripping with charm. "Perhaps you could help me out with a little something."

She returned the smile. She sat on the arm of the chair across from him. "And what's that?"

"I have a meeting with a man in those apartments," said Ricky, nodding through the rain-blurred window. "A man called Tinsley. I was wondering if you knew much about him."

For a minute, she looked a bit puzzled at the specificity. Then he flashed another smile, and she smiled back. "Yeah, he's a detective. A private one. Comes in here a good bit. He's kind of an asshole, but..." She suddenly seemed quite smug. "He's pretty good in bed. So I put up with it."

"Oh yeah?" Ricky raised his eyebrows, sitting back. "You sleep with him a lot?"

"Nah, just the once. But if he offered again, I wouldn't say no, y'know?"

"Yeah. I know." Ricky glanced at the apartments again, thoughtful. "Is he good at his job?"

"I've heard so, yeah. He kinda just deals with the shadier side of stuff. He used to be a lawyer."

"A _lawyer_. What happened?"

"Oh, he was sleeping with clients or something." She shrugged again, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Misusing funds I think. He's a bit of a disaster."

"Right. That's good to know." Very good to know. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning his head to watch the soon to be very familiar figure of the detective going into the apartments. "Ah, there he is now. I'd better go over."

"Oh, are you sure?" She watched him go with a pout. "Have a nice day I guess."

He waved a hand over his shoulder, shrugging on his coat as he stepped outside. He observed the apartments for a moment. Then he turned on his heel and went straight home.

* * *

“God damnit.”

Tinsley mentally cursed himself as he realized he’d left the kitchen light on. Again. He shrugged off his coat and chucked it onto the kitchen table, feeling the cat brushing around his legs as he moved towards the fridge. He crouched down, feeling it purring as it ran its back along under his hand.

“You wanna go outside?” he asked, giving it a scratch under its chin. “Yeah. That’s your true home, isn’t it?”

He moved to the fire escape window, pushing it open, the cat impatiently wriggling under it the second a gap big enough was made. He stepped out halfway after it, one foot swinging out the window, brushing the grille of the fire escape floor. He lit a cigarette, watching the people pass back and forth at the end of the alley, dark silhouettes against the slick wet pavement. To a passerby, he would’ve looked calm, contemplative, enough so to rival The Thinker. His mind, however, was as empty as the file on this so-called assassin. Hitman. Whatever he was.

The cat sprang onto his lap, its damp paws cold and soft through his shirt. He didn’t react. It lifted a little paw to bat at his chin. He brushed it away. It mewed.

“What?” He looked down at it, into its eyes. “What is it? Are you hungry or something?”

It stared intently at him, as if hoping he would understand its thoughts, an ear flicking like a makeshift antenna. He raised an eyebrow, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Well? What is it?”

“Mrrh.”

“Right.” He scooped it up in one hand, leaning aside to place it in the kitchen. “You got my shirt dirty. Thanks.”

He left his cigarette in the ashtray before going into his room and fetching the phone from his desk. He was pretty sure he was the only man in the country who still used a landline, but it was billed to Holly, so he'd rather use it than his mobile. He dialed her number without even having to think about it, sitting back on the windowsill and picking up his cigarette. The receiver crackled before a cool voice said: "Holly Horsley speaking."

"Yeah, Holly, it's Tinsley."

It sounded as if she was walking through a lobby, her heels clicking loud. "What have you got for me?"

"A whole bunch of shit. Are you around tomorrow to meet and talk about it?"

"Only from half twelve until one. Pop in any time between then."

"Sure. Will do."

He tossed the phone onto the kitchen table, lounging back against the window frame. He'd left the DVD with the cops to be analysed there, since it was the only evidence they had now. Apart from the body itself. That was another thing on his list for tomorrow; a delightful autopsy with the delightful Doctor Fear. He sat and pondered the day in silence, the rain pattering lightly against stone and metal outside. Then he closed the window and went to bed.


	2. Hunter and Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a thingy, Ricky and Tinsley don't actually look that much like Ryan and Shane in my head, they've kinda taken on their own look in my mind, hence the reason I might describe them perhaps a bit differently to shane and ryan aight
> 
> mainly to do with ricky's curls in this, in my head he has curly black hair woops

Disguises were not easy.

There wasn't a box of passports waiting around just in case they were needed. Disguises were assigned, and painstakingly, meticulously planned. Disguises weren't just a change of look. They were a whole adoption of a personality, intended to make the wearer be entirely forgettable. Ricky always had an issue with being forgettable. Sometimes good looks were a curse. He didn't exactly cry about it.

Three types of cover were off-limits; members of the clergy, peace corps, and the media. They were a no-go when it came to disguises. What was also off-limits was stealing disguises. Walking through a mall and snatching up this and that was a plan doomed to fail. Security may not exist in the movies, but he it sure as hell existed in the real world.

With all its rules and restrictions, Ricky wouldn't frequently partake in disguises. He was known in his field as a Romeo, a honey trap, a man who used seduction and charm as his most dangerous weapon, which meant using his real face, his real personality. He was damn good at it. He'd flash a smile and a wink and the world would be in the palm of his hand.

But this time, he decided that this method probably wouldn't work out too well. From what he had heard, the detective slept around like it was a competition. He was most likely much too used to one night stands to forget himself and reveal a secret or two. Unless Ricky made it a  _very_  good night. The best night of his life, perhaps. Ricky sat on his balcony as he pondered his best choice of action, his dachshund draped across his lap. No, perhaps he should monitor the guy from the outside, not get intertwined in his life. It sounded like a mess anyway, and Ricky hated mess.

He rose off his chair in his deep red robe and carried his cup of coffee and his dog through the French doors into his bedroom. It was an apartment bordering on obnoxiously luxurious. He dropped Pablo onto the bed. The dog seemed perfectly content with this. Ricky slipped onto the chair in front of the mirror, resting his elbows on the desk with one hand cupping his chin as he looked himself over. He squished his cheeks together. He pulled them back. He put a bit of balm under his eyes with the tip of his ring finger. He took some more and dabbed it on his lips before pressing them together. He took some coconut oil as he stood up and rubbed it between his hands before pushing it back through his dark curls, shining them up. Then he turned with a flair to look at himself in the full length mirror. He smiled a devilish smile. His reflection smiled back.

"Hey, beautiful."

He moved to the wardrobe and swept the doors open. He pulled on a white t-shirt and some dark jeans and some scuffed-up sneakers. He popped on a pair of glasses and clamped a red cap on over his hair. He slipped on a hoodie, zipping it up. He let his shoulders slump, let his face look a bit tired. Yeah, that was good. He was a college student today, he decided. He extended his disguise just a tad more to cover his voice. Again, he couldn't just put on an accent. That was a recipe for disaster. Luckily, he could choose from five languages. He could choose his own language; Spanish. Or he could choose French, Italian, German, or Russian. He chose French. That was a good one, and he found it a bit easier to speak than the rest. Then he gave Pablo a pat and made sure his food and water was full before heading out.

* * *

Her office was large and square and neat. In the centre sat a smooth glass-topped desk. On either wall were bookshelves the same dark rich wood as the desk. Behind her was a window instead of a wall that looked out over the city. It should've been beautiful. It wasn't. It was cold and sterile and so neat it felt like an entirely different world. Holly waved at one of the seats in front of her desk with a French manicured hand. She didn't look up from the file she was reading.

"Sit."

Tinsley draped his coat over the back of his chosen chair and followed her order. He sat back with his legs crossed and an elbow on each arm of the chair. He waited. He didn't enjoy waiting, but for a client as important as Holly, he'd do almost anything to stay in her good books. So he waited. She eventually closed over the file, running a hand over it so that it was as flat as possible before placing it aside. She steepled her fingers, watching him with her slatey grey eyes behind her wire-framed glasses. Her hair was a shiny silver in a classy bob with just a few layers remaining in a coif of a fringe. She was a classy woman. She was a rich woman. And she was downright unscrupulous. 

"Well, detective. I only have half an hour."

"Yeah, something happened."

"Already?"

"Already."

"Do tell."

"Right. I went to the scene. It's all a bit gruesome, so I'll spare the d-"

"I'm a criminal lawyer, detective. I'm familiar with gruesome details."

He pressed his lips in a small smile. "Yeah. My bad. The stiff was tied to the bed and stabbed twenty-five times in the chest with a butterfly knife. I found a camera hidden in the smoke detector in the room, so I handed that over to Banjo, because..." He went quiet for a moment, trying to ponder how to explain the situation. "Well, it's kind of the only evidence we have now."

She blinked. "Elaborate."

"It was stolen. The box. Of evidence."

He could almost see the gears grinding behind her eyes. No, they didn't grind. They were well oiled and used frequently, and spun smooth. "What was in the box."

"The murder weapon. A bar of soap that the killer might have used. And a, uh, condom." He paused. "Not _un-_ used."

"And who took the box."

"We don't know. Some bastard disguised himself as part of the forensics team and just... took it."

Her face was stiff. "He just... took it."

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"You're a damn idiot sometimes. You and that damned doctor." She skipped on. "And what was on the camera? Anything useful?"

"The killer and the murder happening. But it was all too dark to make out. It seemed that your client knew him."

"Ah. I see." She sat back, linking her hands on her stomach and rubbing her thumbs against each other. "I'd believe he was assassinated. I didn't want to tell you my theory, just in case you went into the crime scene with an assumption already in your head. You can't work off assumptions."

"Detective 101."

"Quiet." She went on. "He was a key witness in a case against a very not-well-known money laundering cartel. And when I say they're not well known, I mean it. We have nothing. No idea who runs in, who's in it, how big it is, how small it is. They're untraceable. And they're very dangerous."

Tinsley watched his thumb and index finger rubbing in circles against each other. "So the killer's probably some type of assassin, hm?"

"Hitman. If he's working for the cartel, he's probably a part of them. Assassins are for hire. Hitmen aren't. They have to follow rules, they have to do what they're told by the person at the top." She got to her feet, moving to the coffee machine set against the wall beside her. She didn't offer him one. "Assassin's have to be subtle, too. Hitmen don't. They're given their target and they just have to get it done. Just like with my client. Not exactly a subtle killing, was it."

Tinsley shook his head. "No." He went quiet. "Am I in danger then?"

"Probably." She seemed to debate it. "Most likely."

"Alright." He didn't seem too bothered. He spread his hands. "I don't have anything else for you, unfortunately. Not yet. But I have to go to Fear now; he's doing the autopsy today."

"The man was stabbed twenty-five times in the chest. I'm pretty sure his cause of death is quite clear already." She sat back down at her desk, taking the file she'd put aside and opening it back up. "But very well. Keep me updated."

He got to his feet, folding his coat over his arm. "With pleasure."

He stepped into the polished elevator and felt very out of place the entire ride down from the twentieth floor to the ground floor. He crossed the shiny marble lobby, pushing a cigarette out of its box with his thumb. He went through the glass revolving door and back into the real world. He stood aside and lit a cigarette behind a cupped hand. He wandered in small circles, scuffing the heels of his shoes off the pavement. It was an early morning, and a cold one too, and his fogged breath was as thick as the smoke.

" _Excusez-moi monsieur_ , can I borrow your lighter?"

He turned at the voice, the lilting accent quite charming indeed. The face was equally charming, big black eyes behind black-framed glasses. "Uh, yeah. Oui. Whatever."

He handed it over before turning back to face the road. He heard the flame being sparked. The man spoke again as he handed back the lighter.

"It's very cold this morning, yes?"

"Yeah, yeah, run along, pal," said Tinsley, already past the encounter. "Au revoir and baguette."

This got an unpleasant silence, not that Tinsley took notice. The man passed by, spitting a word out of the side of his mouth.

" _Con_."

Tinsley's reply was distracted. "Yeah, fuck you too."

He finished his cigarette, stubbing it out under his heel. Then he continued towards the subway. It was only when he was rattling along on the train that he patted his pockets for his phone. He patted his back pockets. He patted his front pockets. He patted his coat pockets, inside and out, before muttering a curse. He had no idea where it was. He raised his eyes to the roof of the train, his jaw set. Today just wasn't shaping up to be his day.

* * *

Ricky went straight to the Starbucks across the street for their wifi. He grumpily ordered a small coffee, just so he could sit. He was mad. He was real mad. The guy was a total dick. Ricky only wished he had the permission to take him out. But no, his boss had said that too many killings would just draw the noose tighter around their own necks. So he made do with what he had.

He sat upstairs and opened the detective's phone. It was, as he expected, locked. Ricky held it at an angle to the light, squinting at it, seeing where the finger prints were most obvious. He followed their pattern - 1 2 3 4, he wasn't too surprised to discover - and simple as, it opened. He used the same tapping software that was available to partners suspecting their significant other of cheating, and it only took ten minutes or so to set up. The best thing about it was that it would remain hidden on the phone, while Ricky could read each and every text the detective sent out or received - including deleted ones. It was a damn treasure. Not strictly legal, but most treasures aren't. He locked the phone and headed out of the building and towards the detective's apartment.

Twenty minutes later he was there. He eyed the entrance for a moment as he had the day night before, pulling his cap just a bit further down to hide his eyes. He waited until one of the other residents was going into the building before catching the door behind her, silent. She didn't even notice. She checked her post and wandered off upstairs. Ricky placed the phone by the bottom of the stairs, staying crouched beside it for a moment. He had to make it convincing, right? He _had_ to. He cracked the screen off the corner of a step with a sharp tap, feeling just a bit satisfied. Then he placed it back on the floor and left with his hands in his hoodie pockets, whistling to himself. But his day was far from over.

* * *

The autopsy hadn't revealed anything new. The man had been stabbed to death and died because of a punctured lung. Tinsley commented that he got off and then got offed. Fear had promptly ordered him to leave. Tinsley had gladly left. He was tired, and the fact he had no phone was stressing him out a tad. 

He stopped by the café across the street from his apartment. He ordered a cappuccino to go. It wasn't the nicest coffee around, but it was a cold morning, and any hot beverage was welcome. The waitress made it up for him. She was pretty casual otherwise, which he was relieved about. She chatted away quite pleasantly about this and that and he wasn't listening.

"-and did that guy get to you okay?"

Tinsley zoned back in, frowning at her. He leaned against the counter with his arms folded. "What guy?"

"Oh, some guy came in here saying he had a meeting with you," she shrugged, steaming up the milk. "I know I'm being nosy, but it's been a slow few days."

Tinsley stayed frowning at her. "Nobody had a meeting with me. I don't meet clients in my apartment anyway."

"Oh." She gave him a puzzled look. "He seemed to know you. Knew your name and recognized you across the street."

Tinsley's face was stiff. "What did he look like?"

"Hot. _Super_ hot. I mean like, Hollywood level hotness."

"An actual description, Emily. Jesus."

She laughed. "I don't know how else to describe him!"

Tinsley didn't spare even a smile, turning to her with an intense look on his face. "Height?"

"Um, a bit on the shorter side, I guess."

"Hair colour?"

"Black. And curly."

"Eyes? Come on, Emily, it's like drawing blood from a stone here."

She pouted at this. "Fine. He had black eyes. Well, brown, but they were really dark. He was dressed really nice, pretty classy. And he spoke with a _tiny_ bit of an accent, Spanish or something. He looked Spanish or something."

"Spanish or something. Thanks. Really narrows it down."

She glared at him. Then she placed his coffee down in front of him with a bit of attitude. "Hope it burns your mouth off, jerk."

He arched an eyebrow, taking his cup. "Well that's not tip-worthy service. Guess I'll be keeping my dollar."

"Oh go fuck yourself."

He strolled out of the café and across the street, mulling over the mysterious Spanish or something man as he did so. He pressed the code into the buzzer beside the door, stepping in out of the cold. His eyes landed on it instantly, and he smiled in relief.

"Well son of a bitch." He crouched down to pick his phone up, turning it over. "Oh son of a _bitch!_ Come on. Fuck."

It was cracked right in the centre, white tendrils reaching outward. He muttered unutterable curses as he slouched up the stairs with little to no enthusiasm. He chucked his phone onto the kitchen table before letting his coat fall off and onto the floor. He pushed up the window, where a friend was already waiting. The cat bumped him with his head a few times. Tinsley sat in the window with his coffee and his cigarette, one leg propped up on the sill. He felt the cat nudge his hand. He gave it a distracted scratch behind its fuzzy ear.

"A hot Spanish or something man was looking for me, was he?" He took a mouthful of his coffee. It tasted as bad as ever. "Makes me regret not being around to meet him."

The cat responded with a meow. 


	3. Striking Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a short chapter, but again i'm just writing this for the craic and it'll all be a lot more erratic than Blood was !!

“No. Not very good.”

“No. Not very.” Tinsley kept his hands in his coat pockets and his collar up against the cool breeze. It was harsh along the street, playing with his hair. “Anything else to give me, chief? Apart from the obvious?”

“Oh, please don’t be snarky with me.” Banjo puffed air out of his mouth; his heavy moustache ruffled when he did so. “I do need help. And I know it’s late, but I-”

“Forget it, man.” Tinsley knew he was being quite sharp indeed, but it was two in the morning, and he had been called out of his warm bed, where he hadn’t exactly been alone. Or sleeping. “So this guy falls off his balcony and cracks his head in half like a coconut. Open and shut case, I think.”

“That’s what I thought too. I mean, he had been at a party on the twentieth floor, I assumed he was drunk and he fell.”

“Fair assumption.”

“But a lot of the guests seem to be inclined to think he was _pushed_ ,” he said, leaning in towards him, as if it made any difference. The chief barely came up to Tinsley’s shoulder, and was much too round to actually have proximity to the man. “Murdered, you see? By someone else at the party. He-”

Tinsley gave him a sidelong look, brows furrowed. “Stop whispering to me like we’re gossiping over lunch. Just tell me what they’re saying.”

“Oh, yes, sorry.” Banjo straightened back up and readjusted his emblazoned hat. ‘Chief’ sat proud in the centre above the brim, surrounded by a dainty gold laurel wreath. “Well they - the guests - are saying a young man was here. They’d never seen him before and no one at the party seemed to know him either. A few women made advances, but he didn’t seem interested, and if anything just seemed irritated by the sound of things. He went out onto the balcony, and the victim followed. Then the young man left out the front door, and the victim left over the balcony rail.”

“Droll.”

“Sorry, that was very inappropriate.”

“You’re still giggling.” Tinsley rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Reluctantly. “Any description of the guy?”

“Um, yes, yes, hold on.” Banjo fumbled around in his pockets as Tinsley crouched down beside the body with his elbows set on his knees. “Yes, here it is. I think you’d rather just read it, I do tend to get distracted easily.”

“Mm. You always have.” He took the page and unfolded it, taking his time deciphering Banjo’s scribbles. “Well. They all seem pretty complimenting towards him, don’t they? Pretty and handsome and a choice bit of calico, by the sound of things.” He folded the page back over as he straightened up. “But no actual descriptions. How tall was he? What colour were his eyes? C’mon man, this is basic stuff.”

“I know, I know. I was just excited.”

Tinsley rolled his eyes again, heading towards the guests who still lingered outside the apartments, behind the cordoned-off area. He stepped over the yellow crime tape, as he'd tried and failed to duck under such things many a time. The guests didn't seem like a particularly pleasant bunch, and if anything each looked as slimy and untrustworthy as the next. He dreaded to think what kind of party they were at. “Any of you have any actual description of this mysterious man? Anyone?”

“He was very good looking,” said a woman almost dreamily. “Very Hollywood.”

“I don’t care about how appealing he was to all of you,” said Tinsley dryly. “I want details. Height?”

They all agreed on five foot nine, give or take. Eye colour was a dark, dark brown, so dark it was almost black. His hair was black and his shirt was black and he wasn’t white. Definitely of Spanish descent, they seemed to conclude. He was olive-skinned. He seemed a bit jittery when he arrived. He wouldn’t give his name, and wouldn’t give his number either. Wouldn’t say where he lived. Wouldn’t say why he was at the party, or how he knew the victim.

“So he just hung around and looked pretty, is that it?” Tinsley snapped his notebook closed. “Before pushing a man off a twentieth-floor balcony. And there was no one else out on the balcony at the time?”

They all shook their heads. Tinsley tutted, scowling aside. Then he turned on his heel and moved back to where Banjo was poking at the body with his foot, hands clasped behind his back. “Hey. Hey, Banjo, quit it. I- Wait."

He stared at the body. Then he crouched down, knowing full well Fear would bite his head off if he was here for touching the body with his hands. He tilted the man aside, just the barest lift. It was the motel owner, the one who he'd gotten the DVD of the killer off. It was clear, even if the only lighting was from the alternating blue and red of the cop cars. He straightened back up, flipping his notebook back open. Five foot nine, black eyes, black hair, Spanish descent, handsome. Tinsley looked at the body again.

"Well what is it, Tinman?" Banjo poked his head into his peripheral vision. "You look like you've just struck gold. Or maybe I'm just hopeful."

"Is there CCTV in this apartment block?"

"No. And I think for a reason." He leaned in again, bushy brows raised above his little eyes. "They were at one of those types of parties, you know, where everyone just watches... inappropriate videos together. Nasty bunch."

"No doubt. This stiff was a creep too. I got the DVD of the murder off him because he was recording the rooms."

Banjo pulled a face. "Oh, disgusting."

"Yeah, I know. But also useful." He clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "I think it could be the same killer."

"Oh?"

"Short, Spanish descent, black hair, handsome. And he'd have a reason to kill this guy if he knew that he'd given me the recording." He frowned a tad. "Which he _would_ know, if he'd been there when I found the camera. Which I think he was."

"Huh?"

Tinsley didn't speak for a minute, and when he did he sounded numb. "I think the guy is following me."

"What?" Banjo considered the list of interjections he hadn't made yet. "Why?"

"The waitress in the coffee shop across from my apartments said a guy was waiting to meet me. He was short, black hair, basically ticks all the boxes for the killer's description." He placed the end of his pen in his mouth, lightly closing his teeth on it. "How intriguing."

"Intriguing?!"

"Intriguing, because he hasn't tried to kill me yet."

Banjo gave him a sidelong look from under his brows. "You're very odd."

"Do you guys have a database with known hitmen on it?" asked Tinsley, turning his head to look at him. "Any sort of list?"

Banjo's reply was mumbled. "I think so."

"Well from the sound of that, it's probably written in crayon and crammed in the bottom of your desk." Tinsley put his pen and notebook in his satchel, giving him a disapproving look as he passed. "Honestly."

He took out his phone as he crossed the street, scrolling through his contacts. He found Holly's number and shot her a quick text of his findings, and an inquiry into how open she was to him looking through her past clients. He deleted the text after he sent it, as he was prone to doing. Tip-top professional secrecy. He lit a cigarette as he vanished around the corner. 

* * *

The morning was bright and fresh. The balcony doors were open to let the air in. Pablo was curled on the bed in a little croissant. Ricky was laid across it beside him, the phone to his ear as he absent-mindedly wound the cord around his finger. He was talking to his friend and colleague, very relaxed altogether.

"He sent one important text all night, and it was to a woman called Holly."

"Oh? What about?"

"About me. And about that motel owner I killed yesterday. I think he's put two and two together." He rolled onto his side, letting his hand drift out to pat Pablo. "He thinks someone is following him."

"Well he's right."

"He won't know it's me. At least, he won't know for a while."

Fran's disapproving tut came through the phone. "And that's the only text he sent all night?"

"It was the only important one. Then he just sexted some guy until like five in the morning."

"Was it good?"

"Yeah it was pretty good."

"It sounds like he's got that satyriasis, man."

Ricky laughed. "That's not a real thing."

"Tell that to him."

He pursed his lips, rolling onto his front. "Do you think the boss will give me the go-ahead to kill him if I push her enough?"

"You can try, man. She's your mom after all." Something dinged in the background, a set of doors slid closed. "Anyway, I have to go. I'm on a job."

"Cool. See ya."

He reached over and dropped the phone back onto the hook. Then he picked up Pablo like a baby and moved to the kitchen to make breakfast. He did it one-handed, as he was prone to doing, holding Pablo the entire time. The dog snored quietly. Ricky held him out in front of him, looking him up and down with a bit of a pout.

"You're starting to get pudgy."

Pablo panted happily.

"I'm bringing you for a walk after breakfast."

Ricky did exactly that. He ate his breakfast and Pablo ate his breakfast and then he left to take him around the block. It was a sunny day. The leaves were green and the sky was clear. Ricky lived on a nice street, the type filled with old quaint townhouses that were actually beautiful apartments inside. It was only when he was at the end of his street that he debated perhaps going that bit further. Just a bit. The detective didn't live _that_ far away.

A few minutes later and Pablo sat down on the pavement with a determined plonk. Ricky stared at him flatly.

"What? You're done?"

Pablo answered by flopping onto his side.

"Fine." He scooped him up, beginning to head back to the apartment. "I spoil you too much, _querido_."

He returned the dog home and went back out. He made a beeline for the detective's apartments, popping his shades on as he went. He'd just turned the corner onto the street when someone barged right into him, their shoulders clashing. Well, Ricky's shoulder hit the other man's elbow, roughly. Both stumbled with the impact, turning to glare at each other. Ricky's eyes widened in alarm behind his sunglasses.

"Watch where you're fucking going, moron!" The detective continued on at his fearsome pace, sparing just a single glance behind him in irritation. "Christ." 

Ricky glared after him, his teeth gritting. His hand brushed the knife in his pocket, just a touch, just to calm him. Then he followed, as far behind as he could without losing him. He hoped the man wouldn't turn and spot him. Even at this distance it was a risk. Perhaps today was the wrong day to wear a red flannel. He should take after the detective and start wearing his black coat over all his outfits. It was harder to spot. And also quite stylish, especially on the detective's tall slim frame. Ricky followed him for a few blocks, into the business district. He watched him cross the street and head into a tall, glassy, and classy building. Ricky took out his phone and checked the building on Google Maps. It was a law firm. He narrowed his eyes at the revolving door, staying under the shade of the Starbucks across the way. Why would the detective be going into a law firm's building? Maybe it was a client. It was probably a client. Ricky noted the building before heading back towards his apartment.

He stopped by the café across the road from the detective's. He wasn't sure why. The coffee wasn't exactly nice, but it did give him a good vantage point on the comings and goings from the detective's apartments. Maybe he should befriend a neighbour. That might come in useful. The waitress didn't talk to him this time. She stood behind her counter and wiped the surface slowly and eyed him with a wary face. He didn't think much of it.

When he was done his coffee he decided to pop into Tinsley's apartment again. He searched around for the DVD. He pulled open drawers and searched shelves and checked under pillows. There was nothing. He must've handed it over to the authorities already. He checked the desk again, just in case. It was as chock-full of irrelevant things as always. He picked up the gun from the drawer, sliding out the cartridge. He emptied the bullets, pocketing them. Not for any reason in particular, just to make the guy's life that bit more difficult. Then he made sure everything was how it had been before, and left. 

* * *

"I don't just keep a list of criminals in my office, Tinsley."

"Just hitmen. I'm just looking for hitmen." He blew air out of his mouth in a dramatic sigh as he sat back in his chair. "Banjo's useless. I thought maybe you could help."

"I've worked with hitmen," said Holly, still scribbling away on her notepad. She hadn't stopped working since he came in. "But it's all confidential. I can't give you details."

"Oh come on."

"I can't _give_ them to you."

She gave the filing cabinets a deliberate side-eye before looking back at him from under her brows. Tinsley inclined his head. She looked at the filing cabinet again. Tinsley pushed himself to his feet, taking light steps towards the nearest cabinet. He placed a hand on it. Holly shook her head. He moved to the next one, placing his hand on it. She nodded. He took hold of the first drawer. She shook her head.  _No_. Second drawer. _No_. Third drawer. _Yes_. He crouched down, rifling through the files. They were scarily organized. He drew out a binder full of profiles. He lifted it up. Holly nodded. Tinsley took quick steps to the door, turning on his heel with the binder in his arm like he was carrying a newspaper.

"I am going to take this. Therefore you are not giving it to me."

"I don't notice that you are taking it," she replied, not looking away from her work. "But I will notice that it is missing by midday tomorrow."

"Then I will have to make sure it is back before then."

He put it in his satchel and left. He stopped by the café for a coffee to bring back to his apartment. He couldn't work without some sort of hot beverage. The waitress saw him cross the window, and was already prepping his coffee for him when he came in. She spoke excitedly, and she didn't need to be specific. 

"He was here again."

Tinsley perked up. "What? When?"

"He left about twenty minutes ago."

Tinsley closed his mouth, his brows drawing together in a pensive frown. He rested an elbow on the counter, leaning forwards to talk quite secretively indeed. "If he comes back again, tell him that Tinsley says not to be shy, and to pop around any time. Yeah?"

She grinned, handing him his coffee. "Sure. No problem."

"Great."

He tipped her before he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they both walk so fast because they're gay


	4. Crosshairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one, but i am having fun !!

"I'm telling you, it's none of them."

"None of them?"

"Nope." Tinsley flipped through the faces again, and it was indeed none of them. "He must be new."

"Ah. I see."

Tinsley sat back in his chair, the phone still to his ear. "And he's definitely following me. I know he is."

"How are you so certain?" replied Holly. "Have you seen him?"

"In snippets."

"Well that's not much to go on. Call me if you have anything more solid." She was as cool as ever. "And don't forget to drop that file back to me, alright?"

"Sure."

He put the phone down, kicking his feet up on the desk and crossing his legs. The cat on his lap let its irritation be known with a _mrrow_. He opened the file again, looking at her profile. He knew her, from a previous case or two. He took out his phone and checked his contacts, and there she was. It had been a year or so since he'd last asked her for help, but she was pretty open to cooperation, depending on the reward. He pondered it for a moment. Then he hit 'call'. She answered after a few rings.

"Hello?"

He smiled, even though she couldn't exactly see. "Hi, Fran. It's Tinsley."

A pause. "Heyyy."

"Are you around?"

"What for?"

"Just a chat."

"About what?"

"About what we always chat about," he replied a tad sharply. "I need information."

A pensive pause. "How much?"

"I'll give you two hundred for an hour of your delightful company."

She tutted at herself. "Fine. I'll bite. Meet me across the road in twenty."

"Sure."

He hung up and dropped the phone back onto the hook. He spent the next fifteen minutes petting the cat on his lap. He spent the next two making himself look vaguely presentable. He should've shaved, but he hadn't, and that was that. He arrived at the café exactly twenty minutes from the phone call. Fran was already there, as clean and classy in her crisp white shirt and grey cigarette trousers. Her black brogues were shined to the nines. She smiled when he came in, although he had a feeling it was about the money on her mind than anything else. He returned the smile nonetheless. Then he sat down in the armchair across the low table from her and said: "I'm being followed."

She blinked her brown eyes in convincing innocence. "Oh?"

"By what I suspect is a hitman."

"And what aroused those suspicions?"

"A watchful eye." He leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees and fingers lightly touching. "Five foot nine. Black hair. Black eyes. Spanish descent. Good looking. Any ideas?"

She sat back, her eyes raising aside in thought that was as deep as a puddle. "Nothing ringing a bell, no."

His eyes narrowed somewhat, watching her face. "Nothing at all, no?"

"Afraid not, Tinman."

"Interesting."

She smiled, the corners of her mouth tucking in. "It sounds as if you don't trust me."

"That's probably because I don't."

"You're so witty."

He tilted his head aside somewhat with a smirk. "How about this. I give you the two hundred if - and only if - you give me something to work with here."

She leaned forwards to mirror him, elbows on her knees and fingers linked. "How about if you don't give me the two hundred, I'll take it anyway, along with everything else in your wallet. Sound good?"

He considered this. Conversations with Fran were always a fencing match of threats and compromise. "You don't have to give me a name. Just something to point me in the right direction."

She was still smiling as she sat back. It was just a bit unsettling. "I suppose I might as well. Because if he's got you in his sights, you're good as dead, Tinsley. Sorry to be the one to tell you."

"Yeah. We'll see."

"He's very dangerous," she said, her elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "He's pretty smart, but he's more cunning than anything else. No hesitation to do what needs to be done. And he works for his family, of which he's very protective, especially his mom."

"So he _is_ a hitman."

"Yes. And he's a damn good one." She looked him over with a raised brow. "How long do you think he's been following you?"

"A while. Perhaps a week."

She smiled. "Check your apartment."

He stared at her. "Why."

"Check the walls. Check your phones. He's pretty thorough."

"Who is he?" demanded Tinsley, feeling just a bit irked at the idea of some bozo poking around his home. "Just give me a name. Even just a first name."

"No can do, Tinman."

"Does he even have an alias? Anything?"

"He doesn't need one. He's never been caught."

He clicked his tongue behind his teeth, sitting back. "You're being useless."

"Sorry bout it." She checked the nice shiny face of her watch. "I'm suddenly going to have to leave soon. So c'mon. You get one more question. Choose wisely."

Tinsley gave her a bitterly amused look. "You're too kind." Then he thought for a while before saying: "Is his family a money laundering cartel?"

Fran arched an eyebrow. Then she stood up and muttered: "You're gonna get yourself in too deep."

He took the cash from his pocket, holding it between two fingers. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes," she snapped before snatching the cash and high-tailing it out of there.

Tinsley crossed his legs in a figure four, appearing quite calm indeed. A waiter came over and asked if he wanted anything. Tinsley asked if the waitress was working. The waiter said no. Tinsley left, and every second person on the street was a threat.

* * *

"Morning, _mamá_."

"Morning, Ricky." She was up already, by the sound of things. Lucy Goldsworth was a busy woman at all hours of the day. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

"I just wanted to check in," he said with a roll of his eyes. His free hand was out to the side so that Pablo could lay his head in his palm. "Make sure you're okay."

"Well thank you, Ricky. I'm doing fine."

"That's good."

"How is the detective?"

"Annoying. He went into a law firm yesterday. Horsley & Co."

A skipped beat. "Holly Horsley?"

"Yeah. I think so." He sat upright, much to Pablo's chagrin. "Why? Do you know her?"

"Yes. She's the lawyer who was representing the man _you_ killed." She hummed pensively. "She must be his client. Which means soon enough he'll be sticking his nose into our business."

Ricky carried his glass of water with him to the balcony, hearing the click-click-click of little paws following. "So that means..?"

"No, you can't kill him."

"Why not? He's just trouble."

"And what right have you to know that, hm?"

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

Her eye roll was clear even through the phone. "You can't just go around killing every obstacle you come across."

"You haven't seen his face," said Ricky absent-mindedly, his gaze distant as he let his glass of water hover in front of his mouth. "He's trouble."

"For us? Or just for you?"

He scowled. "Meaning what?"

A teasing silence. "Tell me, Ricky. _¿Es guapo?"_

His scowl grew more indignant, his chin tilting up. "I- He- A little. But not enough to make a difference."

She laughed. "Oh, _querido_ , you're so soft. Sometimes I wonder how you do what you do."

He tutted. "Goodbye, _mamá_."

"Have a nice day! Love you! And don't forget about the fundraiser for-"

"Yes, yes, I'll be there."

She blew a kiss into the phone before ending the call. Ricky tossed his phone over his shoulder and onto the bed, still pouting. He sprawled out beside Pablo, eyes stuck to the ceiling as the dog snuffled around his face. Then he pushed him aside and got up and got changed. He suddenly felt like a coffee from a specific coffee shop. Even though it was a few blocks away, and it was heavily raining despite the humidity. It didn't even have nice coffee. But he went.

She recognized him the second he came in. Most people did. The waitress smiled at him. He smiled back. He ordered an americano and sat down and observed the apartments through the blurred glass. He supposed the detective was handsome, but he was too infuriatingly cocky to truly be attractive. Lucy was just messing with him, although she _did_ wish he'd settle down already. But he didn't want to. And he couldn't really, not in his line of work. He knew his mom wished he'd stop sleeping with strangers, but it was the safest thing for him. He convinced himself so. He didn't even notice the waitress hovering beside him.

"I actually have a message to give you," she said as she placed his coffee down. "From Tinsley."

Ricky stared at her blankly for a minute. Then he sat back with an easy smile. "And what's the message."

"Not to be shy, and to pop around anytime," she said with a bright smile, before turning away and moving back around the counter.

Ricky stared at the space where she'd been standing. Then he turned his head to scowl at the apartments. Right on cue, a familiar figure stepped out and took off down the street in the lashing rain. Ricky ran his tongue along his teeth, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Pop around anytime," he muttered. "Well, don't mind if I do."

* * *

The station was empty. It was just him and the faint greenish light and the grime on the slick tiles. He spared another glance at the sign to his right. It told him the next train was due in five minutes in bright orange letters. He sighed to himself. The station sighed back. He heard someone come down the steps behind him. He eventually looked, but the owner of the footsteps was gone. He read the warning in chipped black letters on the steps.

_SEE SOMETHING? SAY SOMETHING. CALL A COP._

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the railway line. He whistled a tune to himself, absent-minded. He heard the set of footsteps again. He glanced over his shoulder; he could see someone on the other side of the platform behind a pillar. They were facing away, their shoulder just visible in a patterned shirt. They were pulling a black leather glove on over their hand with a few short tugs, flexing their fingers. It was cold, he supposed.

Tinsley looked at the sign again. It had gone back up to six minutes. The train was late. He blew air out between his teeth, checking his watch. He was going to be late. And he'd forgot to let the cat out. He let out a sharp breath. It was echoed from right behind him.

The arm hooked tight around his neck, dragging him down and back, knocking him entirely off balance with a yelp. The knife was punched into his stomach, yanked out, jammed back in, the blood running dark down his shirt. He struggled furiously, unable to feel it, but he knew he’d feel it soon. He rammed his elbow back, catching his attacker somewhere on his body, but it didn’t seem to affect him. Tinsley cried out as the blade sliced into his side, up under his ribs, going for a lung. He wasn’t sure if it had hit its target or not. He dropped to the tiles, panting for breath, his eyes wide and watery as he clutched at his stomach. The blood leaked between his fingers, dripping to the white floor. A black gloved hand reached down, wiping the blade off on his coat sleeve. Then it reached over to pick up his bag.

“No.” Tinsley’s voice trembled, each word a strain. His own hand attempted to reach out, the blood wet and dark on his fingers. “No, not- not that. Don’t.”

He didn’t get a response. His attacker sauntered off with the bag swinging over his shoulder, whistling the same tune that Tinsley had been whistling minutes beforehand, and hopped off up the stairs with a spring to his steps. Tinsley rolled onto his front with a lot of effort, teeth gritted against the pain that was beginning to burn through him. He checked his pocket for his phone with a shaking bloodied hand. There was nothing there. It had been in his bag. He rested his head against the tiles; they were cool against his face. His eyes searched the pillars beside him. Further down there was one with a yellow box on the side. He took a few steadying breaths, eyes squeezed shut against the swiftly-growing pain. He pressed his hands firm against the floor and pushed himself forward. Each movement was excruciating. He was in floods of tears within a few feet, using his elbows now to move himself. His hands were trembling too much to be of any use.

“Fuck.” He groaned the word, taking a pause to catch his breath. He almost wished the attacker would just come back and finish the damn job. “Fuck. Fucking Christ.”

He pressed his lips in a line, breathing harshly through his nose as he gripped the edge of the pillar, dragging himself against it. The yellow box was above him now. He pressed a hand to his stomach; his shirt was saturated, warm and wet. It had left a streak across the tiles. He slowly, slowly raised himself onto his knees; his hair was sticking to his skin with sweat, the pain was pounding through him. He clambered the phone from its yellow box, putting it shaking to his ear. It buzzed for a long while. He slumped against the pillar, whimpering with the pain. Eventually a lazy voice responded.

“What’s the problem?”

Tinsley took a few tries before he got the sentence out. “I- I was stabbed. I was stabbed, I’m bleeding.”

“Excuse me? You were stabbed?”

“Yes. Yes.” Tinsley pressed his head back against the pillar, a hand to his stomach. “I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding a lot.”

“Oh, uh- Stay calm. Stay where you are. An ambulance is on its way.”

“Okay. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha ye fuck u tinsley


	5. Shy

_**24 hours after the attack.** _

He was waking up. He could hear beeping, a heartbeat. It sounded regular. He was pretty sure it was his. He opened his eyes to check, seeing the nurse standing at the door, watching him. For a minute he just stared at her, groggy. He tried to prop himself on his elbows, seeing the IV drip into his arm, and the pain came through. It was dull, but it was there. He tugged the covers aside, and the nurse came over to hold his hands still.

"Don't go agitating it now," she said, calm, soothing. She pulled his covers back up. "It'll take two weeks or so to have you back on your feet."

"What?" He swallowed. "I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you some water."

She had been gone barely two minutes when two familiar faces poked their heads in the door. Fear tutted, striding over to him with a haughty adjusting of his glasses. Banjo toddled along behind.

"Well I won't say it's about time, but it's about time," said Fear.

Tinsley scowled at him, but otherwise didn't reply. He placed a hand lightly over his stomach, his brows drawing together in a frown. Banjo helped himself to the seat beside the bed.

"Well? What in the world happened to you, Tinsley?"

"I got fucking stabbed, Banjo."

"Three times," announced Fear. "And they narrowly missed a lung, you know."

Tinsley didn't respond. He pieced the memory together, a detail at a time, like colouring in a pencil drawing; the grimy green of the station, a flash of a deep red shirt behind a pillar, the shine off the black gloves that were being drawn on over hands. "I think it was the hitman."

"What?" Banjo leaned forwards in his seat, his bushy eyebrows raised. "Why do you think that?"

"He fit the description."

"Did you see his face?"

"No. But he was short. A good bit shorter than me, he almost pulled me to the ground when he put his arm around my neck. And he had black hair, black curly hair." He paused, pensive. "And he did what the killer did in the motel after stabbing that guy; he cleaned the blade on my sleeve. And he-" He closed his eyes, letting out a harsh breath that he quickly cut off as it pulled at his stitches. "-he took my bag. He took all my shit. My phone, my wallet, my- Fuck, the file I borrowed from Holly. _Fuck_."

"Shh." Banjo gave him a look of concern. "Do you want tea? Or coffee?"

"I- Yeah, coffee. Coffee sounds good." He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "How long do I have to stay here again?"

"Two weeks," said Fear. "The knife hit your intestines, but it missed any major blood vessels. The doctor cleaned it up, so the risk of any septic infection is slim, but it's still there. You're lucky you rang the emergency services so quickly."

"That wasn't luck. That was just me."

Fear hummed. "Yes. Funnily enough, I never would have put you down as being resilient, but here you are."

"Right. Thanks."

Fear didn't sit. He still stood at the side of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you know what they do during surgery like yours?"

Tinsley gave him a warning look. "No."

"They take your intestines right out of you," he said lightly. "And hold them up to see where the damage was-"

"Piss off. Go away." He gave him a disapproving once-over. "You're not my doctor, are you?"

"I'm a forensic scientist, Tinsley," he said, as if the whole world should know the difference. "I was just in the mortuary when you were brought in. I'm not here on a friendly visit."

"That's pretty clear."

Banjo returned, sans coffee. "Sorry. You're actually not allowed anything but that." He pointed at the IV drip.

"Oh for God's- For how long?"

"I would assume twenty-four hours," said Fear knowledgeably. "And then you'll be moved onto a liquid diet in very small portions-"

"Go away," said Tinsley, waving a vague hand at him. "I don't want you here."

"Charming as always," came a cool voice.

Holly stood in the doorway, her hands folded at her waist. She stepped into the room, crossing the lino floor with dulled clicking of her heels. She stood on the opposite side of the bed to the chief and the doctor. She looked Tinsley over from behind her wire-framed glasses, her gaze not betraying any particular emotion. She took a quiet breath, letting it out just as quietly.

"I feel like I should say sorry."

Tinsley shook his head. "No one's fault but mine. I should've been more careful."

Fear raised an eyebrow. "It took you getting stabbed to realize that, hm?" 

"I don't believe you're of any use in this situation," said Holly. She didn't raise her voice, but she never had to. "Perhaps you should leave before you waste any more air in this room."

A nurse came in as Fear went out. She came over to the bed and checked the flipchart hanging at the end. Holly spoke to her without looking away from Tinsley.

"How long until he's back in action?"

The nurse took a few seconds to realize it was her who was at the receiving end of the question. "Two weeks. Give or take."

"And then he'll be fine?"

"Yes, in general, but usually wounds like these can agitate the person long after they've healed."

"I see." Holly finally looked at her, hands in her grey coat pockets. "Any bills are to be charged to me. I'll come down to the desk in ten minutes to sort it out."

Tinsley didn't quite know how to respond to this, so he just muttered a 'thanks'. Holly didn't make a whole song and dance about it. It probably wasn't even a kind gesture in her mind. It was just an investment into a useful asset. There weren't many private detectives who risked their necks like Tinsley did. It would be better for her if he stay alive.

"Did you see your attacker?"

Tinsley shook his head. "No. But I think it was him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Him?"

"Yeah. Him."

"I see."

Banjo nodded in agreement, if just to be included. Then he checked his watch and made some excuse about an emergency before leaving. He didn't quite like being in situations where his incompetence was brought to the fore. Holly didn't take the seat he'd left unoccupied. She wasn't staying for long.

"Why do you think it was him?"

"He fit the description," said Tinsley. "But I didn't see his face."

She looked pensive. "Then why did he leave you alive?"

Tinsley inclined his head. "Huh?"

"If he's a hitman, he should know very well how to kill a man with one stab."

"Well he didn't even hit anything major."

"I know," said Holly, quiet. "Makes you think."

Tinsley's eyes narrowed somewhat. "...You think it was some sort of message?"

"Perhaps. I'd say most likely." Her phone beeped. She took it out and skimmed some text or other. "I'll keep in contact. You stay here and get rest."

He did what she said. He didn't really have a choice. He got one of the nurses to ring his neighbour and ask him to let the cat out of his apartment. Then he fell asleep.

* * *

_**One week after the attack.** _

It still hurt when he walked, but at least he was walking. Banjo had come by almost everyday just to say hello. Holly had come by once or twice, in the same way a racehorse owner pops by to check on their best horse. Surprisingly, the waitress even dropped by. She told him that she'd given his message to the mystery man on the same day he'd been stabbed. Tinsley had no doubts now that he was being followed, or more accurately, he was being hunted. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but surprisingly, he didn't find it too unpleasant either. It was thrilling in all the wrong ways.

He was out in the small garden that the hospital provided for walkabouts, smoking a cigarette. It was a small square area, surrounded by the hospital building. There was a paved path that went from north to south and east to west. Between these paths were badly maintained patches of nature, and on these were benches, back-to-back, two to each patch of grass. He was in his own clothes again, which made him feel a bit more at ease. He slipped his hand up under his shirt against just to feel the stitches. He was going to have three clear scars by the time they were out; two almost side-by-side in the centre of his stomach, and one just below his right ribs. He didn't really mind. To him, scars were actually quite intriguing. They told a story, gave a snippet of a stranger's life, of a stranger's personality. He sat back on a bench and crossed his legs as he stared at the far wall. The smoke drifted off his cigarette and into the air like ink in water.

He was growing increasingly impatient with every passing hour. He wanted to be back out in the world. He wanted to be back in his job. And he wanted to get this hitman. It felt personal now. It _was_ personal now, and Tinsley himself had always been a vindictive person. The way the guy had swanned away with his bag, whistling a jovial tune, had Tinsley's blood boil. And why did he take his bag? He must've been looking for something, and Tinsley had been mulling over this 'something' for a few days now. There was only one thing he had that the hitman would want, and that was the DVD, which was in the custody of the cops. Which had him thinking. Plotting. Scheming. All the things he was a dab hand in.

A nurse poked his head into the garden. "Mr Tinsley?"

He looked at him sidelong. "Yeah?"

"Your neighbour just dropped this in for you." He came across the garden in his turquoise scrubs, and with Tinsley's bag in hand. "He said it was just at your door."

Tinsley stared at it. He attempted to get to his feet swiftly, but folded over halfway, leaning on the bench for support as he let out a torrent of curses. Then he straightened up more slowly, taking the bag. His phone was in it. His wallet was in it. His card was still in his wallet, along with the cash. And there was a scrap of paper in the wallet too. He took it out and sat back down. He unfolded it, staring at the elegant slanted writing. His teeth gritted.

_Do you think I'm shy now?_

Tinsley crumpled it up in his hand, pressing his clenched fist to his mouth. Then he took out his lighter and set the note aflame before dropping it into the ashtray. He stubbed his cigarette out and went back inside.

* * *

_**One week and one business week after the attack.** _

He couldn't sleep. He sat in the chair, fully-dressed, in his little room on the ward. Holly had of course paid for privatized treatment. He got up and stretched his legs. His room was in the dark but for the golden glow from the striplight above his bed. He wandered over to the window, staring at the city street below. He wanted to be down there, out there. He was made for the hustle and bustle of city life, but he'd never truly appreciated this until now. He checked his phone; it was half two in the morning. Yet he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He decided to go and sit in the garden where he could at least _hear_ the city.

On the way down an unfamiliar nurse in fun scrubs stopped him. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Tinsley threw him a sidelong look as he passed. "I don't know. Walking."

"It's very late." The man scratched his beard, readjusted his glasses in front of his dark eyes. "It'd probably be best if you were asleep."

"What are you gonna do? Force me to go to bed?"

The black eyes flashed, and it seemed so familiar, and Tinsley's entire body went hot and cold. He stood stone still, staring at him. The nurse smiled, seeming a bit nervous.

"Are you okay?"

Tinsley's gaze flickered to his ID. It all seemed official. The nurse's brows drew together in concern, and he repeated his question. Tinsley looked him in the face again. The guy did seem entirely puzzled, and after a few seconds continued walking, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Tinsley waited until he was sure he was gone. He hurried out to the garden.

He was being paranoid. He knew he was. The guy was just a nurse, and he was a bit too tall to be the hitman. _But still_ , his mind said. _But still_. _What if_. He sat down and put a cigarette in his mouth. Softly, so softly, a hand fixed around the back of his neck. It was so soft that he didn't even notice it was there until the fingers were digging into him. He froze up entirely, the cigarette hanging between his lips, his eyes staring straight ahead at the concrete of the wall. A hand holding a lighter came around and generously lit his cigarette for him. The sleeve was black. It wasn't the nurse. The other hand didn't move from his neck.

"Try to even sneak a glance and I'll open your throat," said a voice smooth as velvet. It was hot against his ear.

Tinsley swallowed hard. He tried to stop his hand from shaking as he retrieved the cigarette from his lips. "Do I need to guess."

"You don't even need to speak. And you better stay quiet, or I might decide that you don't need to breathe either."

Tinsley kept his gaze lowered but his chin up. He didn't reply.

"You have something I want." The voice was low and smoky. "A DVD, I believe."

Tinsley's heartbeat raced as he decided exactly what he was going to do. "Yeah."

"Yeah. Where is it."

"I don't know."

The tip of the knife pressed in under his jaw, just hard enough to sting. "Try again."

Tinsley took a shaky breath, his eyes closed. "The cops have it."

A pause. "Well then I don't have any use for you, do I."

"I can get it," said Tinsley quickly, feeling the blade twist a half a centimetre. A trickle of blood ran warm down his neck. "I can get it for you."

"Is that so?"

"I'm friends with the chief. Good friends."

"Mm. And what do you have in mind."

Tinsley closed his eyes at the purred voice; it sent shivers all over him. "I'll get it. And we meet. Face to face."

"Do you think I'm an idiot."

"I was hoping."

This got a laugh, just a quiet one. "Well, how about this. You get the DVD, and you bring it with you everywhere you go. I'll take it off you where and when and how I want to."

"Wily."

The smirk was evident in the voice. "You have no idea, detective."

Tinsley waited, physically on his seat, and mentally on the edge of his seat. The knife stayed pressed into his skin. The hand released its grip on his neck, drifting around to take Tinsley's glasses off and leave them on the arm of the bench. Then a strip of black fabric was tied over his eyes. Tinsley swallowed hard, entirely blind. After a minute, the man's breath was no longer hot on his neck. He waited. He waited some more. He wasn't sure what for. Eventually he risked peeking out from behind the blindfold. He pulled it off over his head, looking from side to side, behind him, above him. No one. He slipped his glasses back on and stared at nothing for a while. He finished his cigarette in double-time, and decided to never go out to the garden alone again.

* * *

_**Two and a half weeks after the attack.** _

He was back in his apartment, which he had missed an incredible amount. The cat came to visit almost instantly. He restocked his fridge with the few groceries he'd picked up. Then he checked the place, as Fran had advised. _Check the walls. Check your phones_. He walked slowly along the walls, and a black dot the size of a pin caught his eye. He looked so closely at it that his pointy nose pressed against the wall. He couldn't quite tell what it was, and he was damned if he wasn't going to find out. He scrambled a knife from the drawer and dug the black mark out of the drywall like an archaeologist who didn't give a shit about history. It was long, about the size of the palm of his hand. He left it on the table, hurrying into his room and snatching up the phone from his desk. He brought it out to the kitchen and took it apart on the table. Another piece of stiff black liquid, like glue. He squinted at it, his tongue between his teeth. It was bugged. He apartment had been bugged for the guts of a month. He picked up the knife, about to gouge the bug from the phone, before he stopped himself. He didn't blink as he thought. Then he placed the knife aside and simply put the phone back together. He smiled to himself.

He took the DVD out of his bag and placed it on the table. He'd gotten it from Banjo after just a five minute conversation. That was all that was needed.

He picked up the phone and dialed Holly. She answered after a few rings, reeling off her name with the same aloofness as she always did.

"It's me," said Tinsley, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He needed to shave. "I have the DVD. I just want to check it one more time. Just in case it gives any hints to anything."

She paused. "I've seen what's on that DVD. You don't need to lie to me."

He mentally cursed her. "It's not- I'm not going to-" He scowled at the table. "That's not why I want it."

"Sure. Just make sure it comes back in one piece."

He hung up, his cheeks flushing. He pressed the back of his hand to his face, feeling the heat. Before the call, he'd been hoping the hitman would be listening in. Now he hoped the exact opposite. He tossed the phone onto the table and sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He rubbed the back of the neck. Sometimes he still felt the hand gripping him, fingers digging in, skin hot enough to feel like it left a brand, a mark, a target, nice and clear. He rubbed at his neck again, chewing on his lip. Then he took his phone and sent a quick text to the waitress, a most generic _you around?_ She was indeed around, and was very much up to the idea of coming over.

Afterwards he lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling while she got dressed. She fixed her hair in the mirror, sparing him a sidelong look. Then she said: "You weren't like that last time."

For a second it seemed as if he didn't hear her. Then he turned his head to look at her questioningly. She shrugged, tying her hair up.

"I don't know. It just seemed like you were... angry or something." She raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror; he was back to staring at the ceiling. "Something on your mind?"

"I didn't ask you over for a therapy session."

She sighed harshly, picking up her bag. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He didn't reply. He heard her leave, the door closing quietly due to the lateness. He took a deep breath, letting it out slow and long. He ran his hands down his face. He wasn't in the least bit tired. He reached over and turned off the light. He swiftly changed his mind and left it on. He tossed and turned until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, quite short, but shit be goin down


	6. A Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one but yeh

For the next few weeks, Tinsley did something he rarely did; what he was told.

He carried the DVD in his satchel everywhere he went, and he remained patient everyday, only because he knew that the hitman would come for him. Someday soon. Hopefully. He walked in the open more often than not. He left his apartment window up, and not only for the cat. He went grocery shopping late, when there was scarcely anyone else about. He sat outside whenever he stopped for a coffee. His eyes flickered around the faces in the street. None of them bore any resemblance to his new friend. He wanted to see him. Yes, he wanted to see the man who had brutally assaulted him in a subway station. For a quick thirty seconds, Tinsley let himself feel a bit concerned about his own mind. Then he was done, and he was back to wanting. Day in, day out, he wanted.

"Has he been around?"

The waitress shook her head. "Nope. Not since he skewered you like a kebab."

"Droll." He distractedly brushed a hand over his stomach. The pain was still there most days, but only in twinges. "Wonder why he's vanished."

"You miss him, do you?" she grinned, passing his coffee over. "Weirdo."

He didn't reply. He simply took his coffee and went out into the rain, turning the collar of his coat up against it. Even so, by the time he crossed the street the rainwater was dripping off the end of his nose. He wiped it away on the back of his sleeve before hanging his coat up. He went into the kitchen, opening the window again. The cat stared at him in confusion from a chair at the table. Tinsley shook his head at it and said: "Don't worry, it's not for you."

He lit a cigarette and watched the alley as he smoked it. _Where are you?_ he thought to himself. _What's taking you so long?_

Night came. He closed the window and began to get dressed for bed. He did this slowly too, waiting, waiting. He drew the curtains and turned off the light. He got into bed and waited some more, staring at the ceiling, his hand on top of the covers for the cat to sleep on. After a few minutes, he nodded off.

He didn't wake suddenly, but he did wake quickly. He was on his side, his face pressed into the pillow. That awful feeling swept over him; someone is in your home, in your room. The cat was still on the covers, he could feel the pressure against his leg. Even so, he lay entirely still, not even daring to breathe. Then he heard the cat from across the room, letting out a hiss. The hairs stood up all over his body, he broke out in a deathly cold sweat. His hands were balling up the pillow. He turned his gaze sideways first, eventually letting his head follow. He stared at the black figure sitting on the side of his bed, inches away. The man's eyes glinted as he stared back. Neither of them spoke a word. Tinsley sat upright, again slowly, like a zookeeper in a cage with a tiger. He couldn't make out the man's face in the dark, but he could see the glitter of his black eyes, the shine off his black hair, and he could smell him. He smelled quite pleasant. Shampoo, an expensive one. Tinsley waited, even though he was sick to the death of waiting. It was the best thing to do in this situation. Then the man spoke in his purred voice.

"Where is it."

Tinsley pointed across the room at the door, where the satchel was hung on a hook. "In my bag." He retracted his hand swiftly, under the covers.

The hitman stood up, moving to the door. He flipped open the bag, taking out the DVD. He moved back towards the window, pulling the curtains back a tad as he flipped open the case to make sure the disc was there. The pale milky moonlight showed just the hint of an outline of his face; Tinsley made out a straight nose, full lips, a sharp jaw, and even from the distance the man's lashes were visible, long and dark. Then the curtains were tugged back into place, and the room was darker than it had ever been before.

"I'm grateful for the cooperation, detective."

Tinsley swallowed, his gaze flickering, trying to catch any movement in the shadows. "I think it's called coercion."

"If you want to get technical, sure." The voice was closer; Tinsley could just about see the man's outline, short, the black jumper form-fitting. "I hope this is the last we see of each other. For your sake."

"I haven't even seen you yet."

"Yes, you have."

"Well I haven't seen your face."

A smile, teeth glinting in the light. "Yes you have."

Tinsley's brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "What?"

"You've looked at me before. I guess you didn't exactly _see_ me, and that's no one's fault but your own."

Tinsley stared at him. "Then you wouldn't mind showing me again."

A silence. "I can't tell if you're brave, or just stupid."

"I'm curious."

"About what, exactly?"

"About whether or not people are telling the truth," said Tinsley, quiet. "Apparently you're a very beautiful man. I'd like to be able to put my imagination to rest."

Another silence. "Detective, are you flirting with me?"

Tinsley swallowed at this; he couldn't quite tell if it was a witticism or if it was a warning. "I'm what you just said I was; a detective. I'm simply curious. Curiosity is my job, after all."

"Well I wouldn't want to put you out of a job, Tinsley."

Tinsley let out a quiet breath at the way his name was said; slow, smooth, like honey dripping off a dipper. "I think I'd be okay."

No reply. He squinted into the dark. Then he got out of bed and went to the wall and switched on the light. He was alone, but for the cat sitting in the corner, washing its face. Tinsley closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, a hand resting over his mouth. Then he picked up his phone and rang Banjo, who answered quickly, even at this hour.

"Now?"

Tinsley was already halfway into his trousers, phone clamped between his ear and shoulder as he hopped towards the door, snatching up a shirt. "Now."

* * *

Ricky came home in a good mood. He placed a mug under the coffee machine and he leaned against the counter beside it as he observed the DVD in his hand. He popped open the case, taking out the unmarked DVD and spinning it around on his finger. He smiled to himself. Maybe he’d have a quick watch before he shredded it.

He made his coffee and moved to the DVD player and popped the disc in. Then he lay back on his bed with his mug on the bedside locker and Pablo on his chest, each as content as the other. He linked his hands behind his head and waited for the clip to roll. Perhaps he was being a bit narcissistic, but he had the right to be, he decided. When it came on the screen, there was everything wrong with it. Firstly, it was much too bright. Secondly, it wasn’t the motel room. It was a vaguely familiar kitchen. Ricky sat bolt upright, catching Pablo just in time so that he wouldn’t fly into the air. A face appeared on the screen, staying still for a moment before raising a hand to give a wave. Ricky sprung to his feet, still holding Pablo against his chest. His blood was already boiling.

“Hi. Hello.” The detective smiled before moving back to his kitchen table and sitting down with his legs crossed in a figure four. “I’m sure you recognize me. In case you don’t - which I know you do - I’m Tinsley. A private detective and a general pain in your ass, lucky viewer.”

Ricky’s teeth gritted so hard he was surprised they didn’t shatter.

“Now, first thing’s first, I was meant to just give you a blank decoy disc, but where’s the fun in that? And secondly, why the hell are you watching the equivalent of your own sex tape? Bit strange. But I suppose you did put on a hell of a show. I’ll admit, it got me a bit hot under the collar.” He paused, his head tilting aside and his eyes raising in thought. “Until the whole stabbing bit. Didn’t quite do it for me then.”

Ricky glared at the recording, moving closer, as if he could reach through it and strangle the man with his bare hands. “You son of a bitch.”

“But basically, what I wanted to tell you is that _you_ , mystery man, just got got.” He laughed, a hearty sound, and annoyingly endearing. “Yeah, you did. I got you. I win. I don’t even care if you don’t see this, just saying those words is orgasmic. Whew.” He fanned his face with his hand. He was a showman, no doubt about it. “Getting a bit heated over here.”

“How did you get me.” Ricky gripped the edge of the television, his other hand still occupied with Pablo. “How did you get me, you asshole. How.”

The detective, of course, didn’t respond. He came closer to the camera, putting his pointy nose right in the frame with a bright smile. “See you soon, buddy.”

Ricky stared at the screen long after it went black. He pet Pablo anxiously, his gaze distant. He set the dog down on its four stubby legs before taking out the DVD and snapping it into as many little pieces as he could, imagining a certain detective’s neck with each snap. Then he tossed the pieces right out over the balcony and into the night with a flourish, breathing heavily. He stared up and down the leafy street outside. There were sirens in the distance. Maybe they weren’t for him. They didn’t sound like they were getting any closer. But maybe they were. He could barely tell over the blood pounding in his ears.

He snatched up the DVD case, flipping it over in his hand. There was a slight bump at the bottom, under the black covering. He flicked his knife open before slicing the covering from the bottom of the case to the top. He peeled it back, staring at the small square object stuck to the bottom corner. A Bluetooth tracker. His eyes stayed wide and alarmed. They didn’t change when he heard the hammering on his door.

“Police, open up!”

Ricky flew around the rooms, turning all the lights off one by one by one, ending in the kitchen. He turned the radio on, as high as it would go, hearing the door bust in just before the radio hit its full volume. Then he snatched up a pan and waited beside the door, his chin up, gaze sidelong to watch for even the smallest flicker of movement. Two hands holding a gun crept through the door frame. Ricky waited until he saw the tip of the cop's nose. He swung the pan sideways, flattening the man with a single hit, and probably breaking his entire face in the process. Collateral damage. Can't be avoided. He flung the pan at the cop's partner down the hall, striking her in the head, blinding her for ten seconds, more than enough time for Ricky to run and twist the gun from her hand and pistol whip her in the side of the neck. The cop fell like a dead weight. Ricky peered around the corner into his bedroom, and there were another three figures; two uniformed, one not. The one not uniformed was tall and slim and his hair was ruffled like he'd just gotten out of bed. Mainly because he just had. He turned his head sideways, and his pointed nose was a clear silhouette against the balcony doors. Ricky kept his eyes on him, gaze intense, jaw set. He tucked the gun into his belt before slipping into the room, staying low in the dark. The detective's head whipped towards him, and the two cops followed suit. Ricky kicked one in the back of the knee before standing on the other's foot, keeping him in place as he headbutted him hard on the nose, forcing a shout from his mouth. He spun on his heel, straddling the other cop's arm before rolling aside so that the man was thrown onto his back before he gave the arm a hard yank, right from its socket. The cop cried out. Ricky was already back at the other cop by the end of the shout, ducking under a brave swipe before punching him directly in the throat, incapacitating him. He stood between the two cops gasping and rolling on the floor, turning to face the detective. Tinsley was staring at him, his face indistinguishable in the dark, but his shoulders were rising and falling hard with his heavy breaths. He didn't run. He didn't move forwards either. He just watched as Ricky took the gun from his belt, moving towards him, aiming it at him. Tinsley's heart jumped around in his chest, very unpleasantly indeed. The second the gun was close enough, he acted.

He lashed out with both hands, twisting the weapon from the hitman's grip with surprising expertise. Ricky didn't stop to marvel at it. He threw a hard right hook up towards his head, and Tinsley's arm whipped up to block it, the impact jarring him all the way to his shoulder, the gun dropping to the floor. That was as far as his basic self defense took him. Ricky moved in close, one hand taking hold of the back of his neck and the other of the back of his arm, a simple hold, but it gave him complete control. He felt the detective's hands grab hold of him in response, and Ricky yanked him down and forwards, falling with him to the floor, rolling them once, quick and sharp, Tinsley's head dashing back off the wood floor. Tinsley kept his hands either side of his head, panting for breath, staring up into those velvet eyes. He continued staring even as Ricky sat back, the sound of shouts coming from the kitchen. The radio had been turned off. Ricky got off him and hurried over to the balcony, swinging himself over the edge and into the night. Tinsley didn't move for a few long seconds. Then he sat upright, raking a hand back through his hair.

"Where is he?" came a panicked shout.

Tinsley scrambled to his feet. He didn't reply. He just raced out the door and down the steps of the apartments and fell into his car. He started the engine and screeched off into the night, his eyes darting around the streets. He sped around the block, and around the block after that, the wheel spinning back and forth wildly in his hands. The guy almost ran right into him. Tinsley slammed the brakes, the car bouncing as the hitman slid over the bonnet in one fluid movement. Tinsley was out of the car in seconds, taking off after him. He could almost taste his heart in his throat. He followed him down an alley, feet pounding the pavement, and he was close, he was so close, he could end it before it really started. The chain link fence came out of nowhere. Ricky scaled it with ease, but the feeling of a hand brushing his leg had him panic, and he fell hard to the ground on the other side. He heard the chain link rattling, heard panted breaths echoing his own. Ricky took a moment to get to his feet, and he half-turned to look at the detective. The man had the fingers of one hand curled through the fence, his other hand resting on his stomach where the pains had come back.

The silence fell heavy. Ricky stepped up to the fence, his unblinking eyes fixed on Tinsley's. Tinsley looked right back, and he took it all in; the darling face so deceiving, the black eyes so betraying of what was really inside; danger, and death. Yes, the guy was drop-dead, in more ways than one. Tinsley slipped the fingers of his other hand through the fence, their eyes still locked. The hitman backed away a few steps, still watching him. Then he finally tore himself away and slipped back into the blackness. The sound of running footsteps grew quiet, and quiet, and silent. Tinsley leaned against the fence for a long while, his eyes closed. Then he left.

* * *

She was still awake. She sat at her desk and sipped her port and smoked a slim cigarette. The window was open to let the night air in, warm and sweet. She sat and worked and worked some more. The doorbell rang. Minutes later, her phone rang. It was the butler, having answered the door.

"Ma'am, it's your son."

She raised her head, frowning at nothing in particular. "What?" She checked her watch, cigarette between her lips. "This late?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well then let him in, for goodness' sake!"

She put the phone down and stood up, stubbing her cigarette out as she hurried past the ashtray. He was at the door by the time she opened it. He looked bedraggled, his black curls unruly, his eyes tired.

"Oh, _querido_ ," she breathed, cupping his face. He was upset, his eyes watering. "Oh, what happened?"

He swallowed a few times, and when he tearfully spoke, his voice cracked. "I didn't get to take Pablo."

She hugged him, although she had no idea what had happened. For a minute, he just cried. She brought him into the office, closing the door behind them. "Tell me everything. From the start."

 


	7. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a teeny tiny bit of nsfw at the very end but it's just tinsley being Too Horny To Function lmao

"It's an invitation."

"An invitation to what?"

"A fundraiser."

Tinsley stared at the little piece of card in his hand. It was indeed an invitation to a fundraiser, to Ms Holly Horsley, and a plus one if she so did desire. Holly was watching him over her steepled fingers. He raised an eyebrow, still holding the card between his middle and index finger. He wasn't too sure what she was looking for from him. She eventually sat back, her fingers still linked, her elbows resting on the arms of her chair.

"I'd like you to come with me."

He inclined his head. "...Why?"

"As an apology of sorts. For what I've ended up putting you through."

Tinsley studied the invite again. Free drinks and free food. "It was my fault, really. I provoked him."

"Never the less, I'd feel better if you came along." That seemed to be the end of that line of conversation. "Did you really see him?"

Tinsley's gaze stayed lowered to the invitation, but it was distant. "Yeah."

"And? What did he look like?"

"What they all said he looked like," he muttered. "Infuriatingly hot."

She closed her eyes for a calming few seconds. "Please be professional."

"That's the best way I can describe him," he shrugged, placing the invitation face-up on the desk in front of him. "I don't know how he's never been caught. You could pick him out of a line-up from a mile away."

"I'm quite certain as to why he's never been caught," she replied. "You said he took down four officers, was it?"

He nodded, remembering the strength, the terrifying accuracy as the hitman took down two grown men without even breaking a sweat. "Yeah. Four. In five fucking minutes."

"And how did you escape any injuries?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged. "When I was a lawyer, I had pretty dodgy clients. I had to pick up a trick or two when it came to self-defense. But I'm by no means good at it."

She shook her head, but it was fond. "You're a man of many talents, aren't you."

"Jack of all trades," he replied, arms folded across his chest as he leaned back. He picked up the invitation again just to look at the golden looped font, like a magpie to a coin. _Lucy Goldsworth, CEO_. "Master of none."

"But better than master of one," she replied with a rare smile. "Now, I can tell you're impatient to get to the apartment, so go ahead. Just keep me updated."

He was already halfway out the door. "Will do."

"I'll collect you tomorrow at 7pm, sharp."

"Sure!" he called back over his shoulder.

He thundered down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning and hurried out to his car. He'd started driving almost everywhere, ever since the subway incident. Although he had a feeling that this hitman wouldn't find a car door too difficult to get past. All the same, Tinsley felt just that bit safer.

The guy's apartment wasn't even that far from his, in the end. It was only a few blocks, but in those few blocks a lot of polishing and cleaning up occurred. Tinsley stood out on the street for a moment, below the leafy trees and the sunshine, although it was still quite chilly anyway. He went up to the quaint townhouse. The apartment took up the second floor of the building. There were cops there, poking around and trying to piece together a personality for their suspect. Tinsley didn't interact with them. He very rarely did at crime scenes. They always just got in the way. So he sneaked a pair of white rubber gloves from their stash and snapped them on over his hands before getting down to it. 

He went into the kitchen first. There was a dog bed under the table, quite plush, and a dog sitting in it, even more so. It wagged its tail nervously. Tinsley ignored it, starting to rummage through the cupboards. Mainly healthy stuff. Disgusting. He pulled open the fridge door, contents rattling. Again, all healthy mush. Tinsley tutted through his teeth, moving on. He went into the bathroom. There were a few plants, all looked after quite well. Not for long, Tinsley supposed. There was facewash and moisturizer on the sink, along with shaving cream and a razor. There were another few bottles on the shelf beside the sink that Tinsley had to have a closer look at in order to find out what they were. An exfoliating scrub. A lip scrub. Eye cream. The guy obviously fancied himself a bit. Along with anyone who laid eyes on him. Tinsley swiftly moved on. He heard two cops complaining about how the neighbours simply wouldn't talk. _No one wants to talk to uniformed cops_ , thought Tinsley with a roll of his eyes.  _Even I don't._

He waited until the last cop had left the bedroom before going in. He closed the door after him. He stood beside the bed for a while. The sheets were a crisp white and in a tangle. He sat down on the side of the mattress for a minute, looking down at the pillow pensively. He put out a hand and let his fingertips just brush it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a need to. The headboard was black and wrought iron. Tinsley let his hand move to the strip of fabric tied around the centre bar. He scooched a bit closer and wrapped the end of it around one wrist. It was long enough for two. Just as he'd thought. After a few minutes he stood up again. He shrugged his coat off and placed it over the back of the chair in front of the desk, on which there was a generously-sized mirror. He sat down and stared at himself. Yes, it was the perfect set up for preening oneself. Tinsley wasn't much into preening. He just gave his stubble a distracted scratch. Then he started rifling through the drawers. He found a hairbrush, a tub of coconut oil, a nail file, a bunch of empty envelopes, a gun that was more of a pistol, a silencer, a few knives of varying size and flamboyance, and lube. Tinsley judged his findings. He couldn't quite piece together something that made sense. The guy was clearly quite into taking care of himself. He also liked knives and guns. He also had quite a busy sex life; the lube was almost empty. Tinsley thought back to the recording. He shut the drawer fast and hard, eyes closed. He quickly moved on.

He opened the wardrobe, and was faced with a bombardment of loudly patterned shirts. They ranged from plain flannel to coloured silks. He pulled open a few drawers. One contained plain t-shirts. The rest was plain black items; trousers, sweaters, a turtleneck or two, like Bond would've worn. Tinsley opened the very bottom drawer. There were a few notebooks, and a photo album. Tinsley took out the album, flipping it open in his hands. Baby photos. There was a caption printed in neat writing under each one. Tinsley finally read the man's name. He spoke it, gently, just to feel it in his mouth.

"Ricky."

He closed the album over, staring at the front of it for a moment before putting it back. He closed everything he had opened. It took him a second to spot it. It had been sitting in the doorway for who knew how long, on its fat backside. He debated ignoring it again but he was hit with a stroke of genius. He crouched down, extending a hand to the dog, palm-up. It toddled over on its fat little legs to sniff at him. He scooped it up once it was close enough, and it seemed perfectly content with this. Then he went out into the hallway and to the apartment upstairs. He knocked on the door. An old lady answered. She was wearing an expensive-looking shawl and smelled of musky perfume. She eyed him with open suspicion. He smiled his most charming smile.

"Hey, I'm Ricky's friend. I was minding his dog for the week but I don't know where he's gone. I saw cops in his apartment?"

Her hard face relaxed slightly at the sight of the dog. "Ah yes, his beloved Pablo. Are you a _good_ doggydoggy?" She looked back at Tinsley, her voice switching back to normal; dry and unfriendly. "What's your name."

"Casey," he answered with a friendly smile.

"Bear with me a moment, dear." She left and returned with a piece of jerky and Pablo took it with a flurry of tail wagging. "I'd say Ricky has just gone to his mother's for a while. I have no idea why the cops are there." She smiled at Pablo again. "I'll mind him, I-"

"It's alright," said Tinsley, holding onto his new asset. "I'll hang onto him. I still have some dog food left over and stuff. Or even, who's Ricky's mother? Where does she live? I could just drop the dog to him. He'd probably prefer that."

"His mother is Lucía," said the neighbour, clearly quite put out with the rebuffal. "And I'm afraid I'm not allowed tell you where she lives."

"Oh." He pressed his lips in a small smile. "Alright. Thanks anyway."

He left the apartments with a new friend. He sat him in the passenger seat and got into the driver seat. He eyed the dog for a moment. It was back on its hind legs, paws up, expectant. Tinsley stared at him. It stared back, and behind those eyes was a skull entirely devoid of thought. But it was waiting. It was waiting for something. Tinsley leaned across and took the seatbelt and buckled the bottom strap across the dog like he would've a child. The dog relaxed, now quite content. Tinsley shook his head in bewilderment, starting the engine and pulling out into the street. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

* * *

Ricky answered the ringing phone, halfway into his shirt. "Yeah? Hello?"

"It's your neighbour, sir. From the apartment above you."

Ricky's brows drew together in a frown. "Alright. Put her through, I guess." There was a click of transferring calls. "Hello?"

"Ricky, it's me, Geraldine."

"Are the cops still in my place?"

"Yes, I can hear them. But earlier a man called around with your dog. I was wondering if you'd rather me keep him here, than your friend bring him back to where he lives. Because-"

He cut her off instantly. "What? What man? Why did he have Pablo?"

"He said he was your friend? I assumed since he _had_ Pablo, he-"

"No. No, he wasn't my friend. I left Pablo in my apartment." He took a few deep breaths before biting down hard on his lip. "Describe him."

"Oh, he was quite tall. And he was very handsome. And he-"

"Pointy nose?"

"Yes, quite."

"Son of a bitch."

He let out a sharp breath. Then he thanked her and hung up. He swapped his shirt out for a black sweater, hopping down the hallway as he pulled his shoes on. He'd just get Pablo and come back. In and out. Quick as bedamned. He didn't tell Lucy.

He parked a street away from the detective's apartment. The fool always left his fire escape window open. Ricky would just slip in and take Pablo and leave, and if the detective even entered the same room as him he'd kill him. He slipped down the alley towards the fire escape, sticking close to the wall, so that the only way Tinsley could've spotted him would be if he leaned his entire torso out the window. Ricky scowled up at the fire escape; the ladder was up. He tutted. It wasn't the end of his journey, but it was an inconvenience. He scaled the gutter instead, catching onto the railing of the fire escape and swinging himself over onto it. He landed with slightly less noise that a leaf hitting a forest floor. The window was, of course, open. Ricky crept closer, staying low, his back against the wall. He could hear him talking.

"I don't know what you usually eat. Probably something fit for a human. You like bread? No. Guess you don't like that. What about if there was butter on it? Do you like butter? No offense, but you look like you like butter."

Ricky moved so that one eye was peering into the kitchen. The detective stood with his back to him, hands on his hips. Pablo sat in front of him, tail wagging and a stubby paw up. The ginger cat on the table looked entirely unimpressed. Ricky's own expression mirrored it. 

"Stop giving me the paw," said Tinsley in exasperation. "I know you're hungry, but you won't fucking eat anything I'm trying to give you. What does your owner usually give you, hm? The finest caviar and a little bowl of champagne?"

The man laughed at his own stupid joke. He had a hearty laugh. Then he moved to the fridge and opened it. He stood for a while, one hand on his hip, the other resting on the fridge door. He stood in a very lax manner, like any second he'd gladly melt into the ground. He sighed wearily.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this but... I have steak. Do you like steak?" He held the packet in both hands, crouching down to let Pablo have a sniff. "Oh, you do like that. Look how excited you are."

Ricky watched with both eyes just above the sill. The detective was smiling, and it wasn't a smile he'd shown as of yet. It was genuine, and soft, and secret. His eyes crinkled at the corners; he had very smiley eyes in general, despite the fact his brows were usually fixed in a scowl. They weren't now. Then the detective straightened up and left the room and Ricky snapped out of it.

He slipped through the window and into the kitchen, silent. The butterfly knife lived up to its name in his hand, flickering around in his fingers with the same light delicacy as a showgirl with a baton. He scooped Pablo up and set him down on the fire escape. The dog's entire body wiggled with his tail. Ricky snapped the knife closed, moving towards the bedroom. He wasn't too sure why. The bedroom was dark. Ricky stuck his head into the room, listening. Maybe he wanted to kill him. Maybe he wanted to thank him for taking Pablo. Maybe he wanted neither. But he wanted _something_. There was a click. He froze.

“Drop the knife.”

Ricky didn’t look at him. The room was dark, an inky midnight blue. “You saw me.”

“I said drop the knife.” A silence with barbs on it. “Now.”

Ricky let his gaze flicker sidelong, but it wasn’t much use in the dark. He dropped the knife. It thudded against the floor.

“Kick it over here.”

Ricky gritted his teeth in a grim smile. “You really think that’ll stop me from killing you.”

“No. But the gun in my hand will.”

“The rumours were true,” said Ricky dryly, giving the knife a light kick so that it skimmed the wooden floor towards the detective. “You’re just _so_ intelligent.”

“And let’s see if the rumours were true about you. Didn't quite get a satisfactory look last night.” 

The lamp was finally turned on, and it flooded the room in a deceivingly warm light. Ricky turned his head to look at him. The detective was sat quite comfortably in his desk chair, his legs crossed and his gun aimed steadily at him. A small smile moved across his mouth, but he had a tendency to use his eyes more when it came to smiling. They narrowed ever so slightly in amusement.

“They’re true.”

“And what were the rumours.”

“That you’re hot.”

Ricky snorted. “Classy. Real classy.”

“I’m not. And I don’t pretend to be.” He inclined his head, his thick hair bouncing with the movement. “You know, I’ve always had a bit of a dislike for people as good looking as you. It’s a bit unfair on the rest of us.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s not true.”

“Oh? And pray tell, what have you heard?”

“That you have a _strong_ liking for people as good looking as me,” he said with a sly smile. “A _very_ strong liking.”

Tinsley blinked, letting his lids come up slow, staying heavy. “Perhaps.”

“And perhaps a bit of a strong liking for criminals too, seeing the reason you had to stop being a lawyer. Good looking criminals.” He spread his hands with a smirk. “Could I be your kryptonite?”

Tinsley didn’t respond for a moment. “You broke into my apartment to hit on me, is that it?” 

Ricky didn’t look away from his eyes, equally amused. His voice was a purr. “Am I not the man of your dreams, detective?”

Tinsley looked him over, slow. “Mm. You have potential.”

“And where exactly am I lacking.”

“Physically? Nowhere. But we have a bit of an issue to get out of the way first, don’t we.” Tinsley smiled again at the irritation on Ricky’s face. He had a handsome smile. “I’d say you have a talent for seduction, Ricky, but I’ve grown quite resilient over the years. So talk first, and maybe I’ll let you seduce me after.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Not often. So make good use of it.”

Ricky lowered his gaze to the floor for a calming moment before raising them again in a surprisingly submissive manner. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

He wandered forwards, one slow, meandering step at a time. Tinsley watched him, unblinking, the gun still aimed steady. Ricky smiled.

“How often do you use that gun, detective?”

“Not often. But I know how to use it when I do.” He raised it so that it was pointed at Ricky’s chest. “So don’t take another step, pal.”

Ricky came closer, but he did stop when he heard the click, if out of surprise than anything else. The bastard had actually pulled the trigger. Tinsley’s face went pale. He pulled the trigger again. Ricky smiled, sweet.

“You can’t tell the difference between the weight of a loaded gun and an unloaded one, can you?” He dropped his voice to a playful whisper. “I emptied the cartridge last time I was here.”

Tinsley’s eyes had glazed somewhat. Just like that, he had no words to say. He forced his hand to relax, letting the gun clatter to the floor. He managed to utter: “Okay.”

Ricky strolled right over to him and picked up the balisong. He flipped it open with the most delicate flick of his wrist. “Stand up.”

Tinsley looked at him with serious eyes in a serious face. “Why.”

Ricky placed a thumb on one side of the detective’s chin and the blade on the other, pressing it in as he turned Tinsley’s head to look at him more directly. “You’re not asking the questions anymore, detective.”

Tinsley pressed his lips in a grimly determined line, not looking away. He could feel nothing but the coolness of the blade against his skin. He stood up, slowly, his hands raised aside, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s cutting me.”

“Oh. That’s a pity.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And so are you,” said Ricky, keeping Tinsley’s face inches from his with the help of the pressure from the knife. The detective had to lean forward in order to comply. “I thought a bit of a scare would knock some sense into you, but it didn’t.”

“It’ll take more than being stabbed to make me change my ways.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He smiled, his eyes heavy-lidded. “You're not too concerned with your own safety, are you."

Tinsley went to shake his head, wincing as the blade nicked him. "Ah, ow. _Ow_. For fuck's sake, you- Ow!" He grabbed hold of the man's wrist, trying to push his hand away. His lips were pressed in a line as he drew a shaky breath in through his nose. "I said ow."

Ricky watched the smallest trickle of blood drip off the man's chin, dark and shiny. He lifted his gaze back to meet his. "This is going to be the last time we see each other. Do you understand."

Tinsley swallowed hard. "Alright."

"And the only reason I'm not going to shove this knife down your throat and turn you into a smoothie is because you were nice to my dog." Ricky flashed him a wide smile, not quite unlike a shark's. "It's the little things, isn't it."

Tinsley didn't dare move. The blade was still pressed into his skin hard enough to sting. His back was beginning to hurt from leaning forwards for so long. Ricky leaned in just that bit closer, still smiling, his gaze lowered to the other man's mouth. Their noses were just about touching. Then the knife was snapped shut and Ricky left with just a long look over his shoulder. Tinsley had straightened back up, and appeared somewhat dumbfounded, gazing at him. Ricky closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving the detective in the dark. He took the steaks from the kitchen table, as Pablo was now probably in the mood for them. He slipped out the window, maneuvering himself down off the fire escape with a lump of a dog under his arm. He was halfway down the alley when he heard him.

"Hey, asshole! You took my fucking steaks!"

Ricky stood at the end of the alley. He raised his hands high and clear, middle finger up. Tinsley scowled at him before dragging the window down, and for once in a long, long time, he locked it. Angrily. He went into the bathroom and switched on the light, angrily. He inspected the cut on the side of his chin and cleaned it, angrily. He got changed, angrily. Then he got into bed and glared at the ceiling. For five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. One hour. Two hours. He tossed and turned and buried his face in the pillows and let out a hard sigh that was more of a growl than anything else. He thought about texting the waitress and seeing if she wanted to come over. Just for a few hours. Just so he could stop thinking. He decided against it. Thoughts of her weren't really doing anything for him in the current moment.

He was staring at the far wall. It was almost three in the morning. He’d given up even trying to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the damn son of a bitch hitman, and the lingering look he’d given him before he’d slipped out the door. Dark and lustful. Or was it lust? Maybe it was threatening and Tinsley had just read it wrong. Or maybe it had just been a normal look. Or maybe he was overthinking it so much he was getting angry. He flopped onto his back with a harsh sigh, glaring at the ceiling. His heart was beating just a bit too quick to be normal. He gritted his teeth, fighting to focus his mind. He couldn’t. He  _couldn’t_. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, pressing his palms into them.  _Stop. Stop thinking. Stop thinking about him._   _Stop thinking at all._ After a few minutes of mental struggling, he let out a long, defeated sigh. His fingers fidgeted with the covers. Then he muttered: “Fuck it.”

He slipped a hand under the covers and into his underwear, and tried to work all thoughts about Ricky out of his mind.


	8. Warzone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd put a bit of time between this chapter and the last chapter, just for plot reasons  
> again, this isn't a work of art and im just writing it whenever i get a whim. there will be a few mistakes here and there. apologies in advance.  
> now im not TOO sure where all this is headed, but really im using this fic as a bit of a blocker between the blood series and my next more serious fic, because my next more serious fic will also be in the 1920s and i was getting very repetitive going straight from one to the other so yeehaw

Tinsley stared at the house through the wrought iron gates. He went to open his mouth to speak before noticing that his mouth had been hanging open for quite some time. “Well fuck me. Nice place.”

“Oh, it’s one of the more modest ones,” said Holly dryly. She cut the engine. “Only fourteen bedrooms.”

They got out, closing their doors in unison. Tinsley listened to the sound of chatter and lilting music. He smoothed down his tie, a bit of a nervous tick that he’d developed seconds ago. Holly seemed quite cool, checking her face in her pocket mirror before snapping it closed and dropping it back into her bag. She started walking, down the path that ran adjacent to the driveway that would’ve been just perfect for an airport runway. Tinsley stuck beside her, hands in his pockets. The lawns were trimmed to perfection, so neat they looked like velvet. They covered at least four acres, and Tinsley could hear water trickling from somewhere nearby. He could see silhouettes through the windows, black against gold, high hairstyles and tailored suits, and the smell of money was overwhelming.

“If anyone asks, you’re a new employee of mine and I’m just showing you the benefits of being a good lawyer,” said Holly, taking the steps up to the double doors that served as an entrance. Tinsley took the steps two at a time beside her. “That’s all you need to say. And even if you say more, at least you have the experience.”

“Sure.” He rubbed at his pointy nose as she knocked clearly on the door. “You go to these things a lot?”

“Yes. Can’t say I ever really enjoy them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re warzones, Tinsley,” she said. “It’s all just for show.”

“One big pissing contest, hm?”

“Try not to be vulgar. Please.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sure.”

In the act of rolling his eyes, his gaze found a window far up and to the right. There was a woman and a man in it, and the man was buttoning his shirt with clear annoyance, although the annoyance didn’t seem to be aimed at her. Tinsley watched them for a moment. Then the door opened and it began.

* * *

“You can’t just stay up here in a huff, Ricardo. You’re not twelve anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an adult. So I can do what I want.” Still, he continued trying to tie his tie with short, sharp movements. “I don’t like these things. They’re stupid.”

“They’re for a good cause.”

“If you wanted to donate to a good cause, you could just do it yourself,” he muttered. “We don’t exactly need funds raised, do we.”

“Enough of the attitude,” said Lucy with a frown. “You’re just upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he replied, steely. He glared at himself in the mirror.

“You are.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You underestimated an enemy. It happens. This is just a learning curve, _querido_.” She turned him to face her, untying his tie and placing it over the back of the chair beside them. “You don’t need that. They never really suited you.”

He looked down at his plain white shirt. “Why can’t I wear one of my other shirts.”

“Because they’re provocative, Ricardo,” she scolded. “This is a mature event. Come on.”

He tutted, folding his sleeves up around his elbows. “Fine. But I don’t want to wear a jacket.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll allow it.”

The sounds of chatter and smooth music was clearer in the hall. Ricky closed his bedroom door behind he and his mother, still scowling. She gave him a long-suffering smile.

“Stop pouting.”

He forced a smile onto his face, speaking between his teeth. “Better?”

“Not really.”

They moved down the hall to the stairs, one set of many. They went their separate ways. Lucy went for the main stairs, as it was important that she be seen. Ricky took the more hidden stairs that would drop him right into the middle of the action. He never quite enjoyed making an entrance at such events, but no matter how much he tried to lay low, he was always noticed. He crossed the bustling hall of gold and glam and into the kitchens. People ogled him as he passed. He ignored them, helping himself to the wine on the granite counter in the middle of the kitchen. A stranger stopped beside him, a man Ricky didn’t recognize, even in a two-second sidelong glance. The man spoke.

“H-”

“Not interested,” said Ricky.

This got a tut, but the guy left. Ricky hadn’t lied. He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t interested in anything that was going on. He wasn’t interested in the people. He wasn’t interested in the funds being raised or what they were being raised for. Right now, he was just interested in the wine. And vengeance. What he could do to get back at that damned detective. He never been dealt a blow quite as shocking as that one had been. 

He took his plotting outside, moving towards the darker area, behind the neat and trimmed bushes that lined one side of the house. The pool emitted a soft blue glow a few yards away. A tall silhouette was wandering along the side of it, hands in his pockets. Ricky watched him, leaning back against the wall of the house, one arm folded across his chest and the other still handling his cigarette. The figure turned his head to look at the house, and the soft glow of the pool fell on the side of a pointy nose, shone off a pair of glasses. Ricky went still. _No. It couldn’t be_. It couldn’t be. He forced himself to relax quite swiftly, on the basis that it simply couldn’t be. He smoked his cigarette, his glass of wine held precariously in his other hand. He went back to pondering revenge.

* * *

The tiles at the bottom of the pool swam quite enticingly indeed. Tinsley watched them for another minute or so, just listening to the swell of water lapping at the edges. He checked his phone; he’d left Holly inside to network or do whatever she wanted to do. What _he_ wanted to do was go home. He took out his box of cigarettes, pushing one out with his thumb. He checked his pockets for a lighter, sighing heavily when there wasn’t one. He looked over his shoulder, spying the glow of a cigarette in the darkness behind the bushes. Tinsley tried to make out the figure for a second, but they were essentially invisible but for the lighter colour of their shirt. He headed towards them, strolling down the path. As he got close, the person swiftly dropped their cigarette and stubbed it out under their shoe. Tinsley stopped about two feet away from them, suddenly a bit on edge. The silence lingered. A pair of velvet black eyes glinted as they watched him. Tinsley cleared his throat.

“Do you have a lighter I could use?”

Another unnecessary pause. Then Tinsley felt a soft hand under his, bringing it up so a lighter could be pressed into his palm. His fingers were folded over it, nice and tight. Tinsley arched an eyebrow at the strange action before looking back at the face in front of him. There was a flash of teeth in a sly smile.

“You can keep it.”

The words were low and purred, and Tinsley had never felt chills quite like the ones he felt at the sound of that voice. They shot up his spine with such intensity it was violent. He stayed entirely still as the man moved away, melted away, into the dark. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there for. The feeling of his trouser leg being moved made him turn and look down. It was a dog. A little sausage dog. Tinsley crouched down, picking it up under its arms and carrying it into the light from the window a few metres away, holding it at arm’s length. He looked into its eyes; yes, he could almost hear the elevator music from here. He opened his mouth and said: “Pablo?”

The dog wiggled as its tail whipped back and forth.

Tinsley stared over his head at the lawns, all the way to where they disappeared into the darkness, and beyond. “Shit.”

* * *

Ricky scrambled through his drawers, quickly locating the small bottle. He tipped out a single pill and dropped it into his pocket. Then he opened his bedside locker and took out his knife, flicking it open once and flicking it closed just as quickly to make sure it was all fine before tucking it into his other pocket. The entire time his mind was racing. The detective was here. The detective was here in his home where his family partook in criminal activities like it was a competition. He should probably ask Lucy before doing anything drastic, but he was feeling particularly frisky tonight. He hurried out of the room and down the main stairs, his gaze scanning the bustling room for him, and he spotted him without difficulty. His head was visible over the rest, and he was making a beeline for the door. Ricky put himself on a collision course, weaving through the people, ignoring those who tried to say hello or how are you. The detective’s eyes landed on him, seeing how close he was, and the guy spun on his heel with surprising grace and started back the opposite direction. Ricky followed him towards the living room, which was quieter and filled with the more mature side of the guests. They were perched on the plush sofas and lounging in the armchairs and waiters were flowing through nice and easy. He saw the detective instantly - he wasn’t too good at hiding, and apparently didn’t seem to be trying. He was just standing with two other women, between them, facing Ricky, his face pale but hard. Ricky slowed as he got closer, spotting one of the women with him; it was his mother. The other was the lawyer. Ricky joined them with a friendly smile, letting his shoulders relax. Lucy introduced him proudly. He shook the lawyer’s hand. Then he reached for Tinsley’s, and Tinsley’s reached for his.

Their hands touched, wrapping around each other, firm and close and tight. Tinsley didn’t stop looking at him. He couldn’t. He knew. They didn’t even bother to feign a handshake, their hands staying still, locked. Ricky smiled at him, but his eyes stayed black and deep and all too familiar.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Tinsley.”

Tinsley finally blinked himself out of his stupor. He wriggled his hand out of the other man’s grip. “You too, Mr Goldsworth.”

Ricky inclined his head at the slow words. “You seem unsettled. Perhaps another drink.”

Ricky swept a champagne from a passing waiter, making sure the palm of his hand remained over it so that he could release the pill nice and neat into the bubbly gold liquid. He pushed it into Tinsley’s hand before raising his own glass. The two women had split off with their own feigned niceties. Ricky was grateful. He had Tinsley all to himself.

“Don’t be shy, detective.”

Tinsley brought the drink to his mouth, but he didn’t open his lips to sip, although he allowed his throat to make the appropriate movement. _Do you think I’m a fucking idiot_. He smiled at Ricky, as if he was having a delightful time. Ricky smiled back, as if he cared.

“Nice place you have here, Mr Ricky Goldsworth.”

He paused at the sound of his full name, his brows drawing into a quick frown before relaxing again. "It's alright." His black eyes flickering to the barely-sipped drink in Tinsley’s hand. “I didn’t know lawyers let rookies tag along to such events. Or is it some sort of charity organisation?"

“I’m not a rookie,” replied Tinsley cool as ice, before moving on swiftly. “What do _you_ do for a living?”

Ricky shrugged his shoulders, letting his head turn aside, observing the crowd. “Oh, whatever I fancy, really.”

“Must be nice.”

“Not as nice as you’d expect.”

 _So you’re a comedian now too_. “Anything in partic-”

“You’re a slow drinker,” said Ricky, gesturing with his own half-empty glass. “You’ve barely taken a sip and I’m almost done.”

Tinsley gave him a steady look. Then he set his glass aside with a deliberate thunk. “I’m driving.”

Ricky’s jaw clenched and unclenched, quick as a flash. “Ah. I thought I saw you arrive in your friend’s car.”

“Must’ve been someone else.”

“I doubt it. You have a pretty distinctive face.”

Tinsley smiled. “As do you.”

Ricky raised a dark eyebrow at the weight of the response. “And what’s so distinctive about my face, Tinsley?”

Tinsley tilted his head barely an inch, but the condescension was staggering. “You’re fishing, but I’m not going to bite. I don’t really want to give you the satisfaction.”

Ricky’s face was deathly still. Then he smiled, an amused one. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Take it whatever way you want.”

Ricky took a taste of his drink, smiling from behind his glass, openly flirtatious. “Don’t you want to know what’s distinctive about your face, Tinsley?”

“Not particularly.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself.” He looked him over, taking his time with it. “You’re very handsome. I won’t deny it.”

“Why would you deny it?”

“Because I don’t think I like you.”

Tinsley arched an eyebrow at this. “And why is that.”

“I’m not too sure.” Ricky let his hands spread half-heartedly, one still holding his drink. “Do you like me?”

Tinsley shook his head, watching him close. “No. You’re not really my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type,” replied Ricky with a snide smile. “Including yours.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I?”

Tinsley went quiet, watching the man’s glittering eyes. Ricky smiled again, although it was more of a baring of teeth than anything else. Tinsley’s fist clenched by his side before he forced himself to let it relax again. Enough pretending. Ricky leaned in towards him, as if they were good friends gossiping.

“I do know you, detective. And you know me.”

Tinsley looked down his nose at him. He was tense all over, despite the fact they were surrounded by people. “Is that why you tried to poison my drink.”

Ricky’s face fell flat for a second. Then he shrugged, straightening back up. “Yeah, I heard you had an eye for detail. Do you know what I put in your drink?”

“No.”

“Saxitoxin. I was going to let you sip away and lead you outside and then you’d quickly become paralysed and then I was going to kill you while making some witty comment or other.” He shrugged with a lackadaisical wave of a hand. “Well, _quel dommage_ , hm? For you, anyway. Because that was the quickest way I had planned.”

Tinsley eyed the drink he’d set aside. “And how were you going to lead me outside, if I may ask? Flirting? Suggesting?”

“One or the other.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.” Tinsley turned his quiet eyes back to Ricky. “Because I don’t find you attractive.”

Ricky smirked. “Liar.”

“And how are you so certain I’m lying?”

“Because I’m trained in detecting liars, Tinsley.” He rolled his big eyes before letting them land back on the detective. Then he smiled again. It was a gesture that slipped onto his face as smoothly as a fresh coat of paint. “You want to fuck me.”

Tinsley forced himself to stay cool. “Is that so.”

Ricky ran a thumb along his bottom lip, letting it come to a rest in the center as his gaze meandered all over the detective, heavier than any physical touch. “And I wouldn’t suggest acting on it.”

“Oh, I’ll sure try my very hardest.”

He arched a dark eyebrow at the sarcasm. “I have a question for you. A very important one. But I want you to be clear about something before I ask.”

“And what’s that.”

“I could kill you with anything in this room,” said Ricky, stepping closer so that the other man could hear his quiet words. “Anything. Just close your eyes and point.”

“Well you couldn’t kill me with a knife, so I think I’m okay.”

“Mm. You like the sound of your own voice, don’t you.”

Tinsley kept his arms folded across his chest, a barrier between them. “I suppose. But I don’t want to prolong this chit-chat with you either. So you said you had a question for me.”

Ricky’s eyes flashed. His words were stiff. “What are you doing here.”

Tinsley debated his answer. He could say it was all a coincidence, and go down the safe route. Play dumb. Or, he could tell the truth. Which he did. “Finding out the identity of a very secretive money-laundering family. Accidentally. I’m just that good.”

Ricky's face flushed with anger. It slowly faded to a pleasant pink tinge on his cheeks. Then it was gone, and he was smiling. He slipped his fingers into the crook of the taller man's elbow with a casual: "Walk with me." 

He practically pulled the detective along, his steel grip still on his arm. Tinsley gave a subtle tug, but he knew full well he wouldn't be able to match the other man in strength. He'd just have to stay sharp. And focused. And not get distracted. By anything. He kept his gaze ahead as he heard Ricky speak.

"I was grateful that you didn't leave my dog locked up in my apartment," said Ricky coolly. "And I repaid you for that by not slitting your throat. So I thought we were even."

"You're too kind."

"Enough of the backchat."

Tinsley brought them to a halt by the wall, turning to face the shorter man directly. Well, perhaps not directly. He had to tilt his head down to look him in the eye. "This isn't a personal thing, Ricky Goldsworth. I was hired to find out who killed Holly's client. And I found him. It's not my fault you were so slapdash in your tactics and let yourself get found so easily."

Ricky lowered his gaze, pensive. "And have you told her yet?"

"Have I told who what."

"Have you told Holly who I am."

Tinsley opened his mouth. Then he shut it. He opened it again and waited for a moment before saying a very unconvincing: "Yes."

"Liar."

"Which means what? You're gonna kill me?" He winked at him. "Third time lucky, perhaps?"

Ricky didn't spare him a smile. "You're not funny."

"Oh, come on. First you're saying I'm full of myself, and now you're insulting my wit."

"Shut up."

" _You're_ the one who asked me to walk with you."

Ricky narrowed his eyes at him in perplexion. "Do you have any grip on what's going on here? I'm going to kill you."

Tinsley smiled, a small one. "I don't think you will."

"And why's that."

"Because I'm going to go out on a limb here and guessing that you're just as interested in me as I am in you."

Ricky didn't reply, letting the surrounding chatter and clinking of glasses fill up the silence. "You're interested in my psyche, is it? Everybody wants to get into the mind of a killer."

"No. I'm just interested in you." He shrugged, casual. "In the most basic way possible. I mean, it's as you said." Another shrug. "I want to fuck you."

Ricky inclined his head, one eye still narrowed. "Maybe my psyche isn't the most interesting one here after all."

Tinsley gestured vaguely, letting his hand hover in the air, palm up. "Look, I'll admit, I've done some desperately unethical things for sex. I'll just put that out there now. But to have sex with _you_ , Christ, I'd kill my own mother."

"Alright that's enough." Ricky gave him a disgusted look. "Jesus."

"Oh sorry, Your Highness. I forgot how much of a delicate flower you must be."

"I said that's enough," he snapped, with such sharpness Tinsley straightened back up. "For God's sake, get a grip."

"Well then let's talk shop." Tinsley smiled, a charming one. "I keep your family's secret, and in return, you sleep with me."

Ricky snarled his response. "Are you _fucking_ serious."

"Oh? Is that too forward for the man who bugged my home and stabbed me multiple times in a subway station?"

Ricky grabbed hold of his tie, wrapping it around his fingers and yanking him down so that their faces were on the same level. "I am not having sex with you. Not now. Not ever."

"You didn't say that ten minutes ago."

"Well I changed my mind."

"Ah. Pity."

Ricky's voice softened, just a tad. "But I would, however, be interested in a deal."

"Oh, I-" He got cut off as his tie was pulled tight around his neck, Ricky leading him around the corner into a smaller, darker hallway. "Watch it, man. Fuck."

He was led down into an adjoining room, a small, private dining room, with naught but a dark wood table with a matching chair at each of its four sides, and a fire place with no fire as of yet. Ricky let go of his tie, turning and locking the door. Over his shoulder he simply said: "Sit down."

Tinsley went to the table and sat down. He took a butterknife off the table as he did so, holding it in his hand. It got a disdainful look from the man in front of him. Ricky didn't even bother to comment on it. He stood at the door, leaning back against it, arms folded.

"You're working closely with that lawyer, are you."

Tinsley nodded, observing his reflection in the knife. "Sure. Always have."

"That's fantastic news." Ricky swanned closer, suddenly a lot more charming. "Close enough to be allowed into her office at times when she's not there?"

Tinsley's gaze flickered up to look at him. "...I wouldn't be too comfortable with that idea. But the answer is yes."

"Well that's great."

"But she's my most important client," said Tinsley, sitting back and crossing his legs, and suddenly a lot more serious than before. "I don't know if you know, but private detective work isn't usually as classy as they make it seem in the movies. At least with Holly, I'm not just sifting through suspicion after suspicion of cheating husbands and cheating wives and yada yada yada. So I wouldn't be too keen on losing her. Unless I was offered a price."

Ricky arched an eyebrow. "A price."

"Yes."

Ricky debated it. He looked him over, looked at the cocky nonchalance, the way his long fingers tapped out a jaunty tune on the table, the way his hips shifted as he readjusted his seating. "Fine. I'll sleep with you. If-"

"Oh, forget it, sweetcheeks. You're not worth that much." 

Ricky's eyes widened at this, but the detective continued on without much notice.

"I'd be looking for money. Cold hard cash. And a lot of it, enough to cover what Holly would usually give me for a single case, ten times over." He got to his feet, strolling over to him and extending a hand. "Deal?"

Ricky was still stunned, as if he'd been slapped twice. "What did you just say?"

"I said Holly's price for a case, ten times over. And-"

"No. Before that."

"Oh. I said you're not worth that much."

Ricky fixed his eyes on the taller man's, intense. "I am worth more than everything you fucking own."

The corner of Tinsley's mouth curved into a smirk. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Ricky stared at him in silence for a few long seconds, his eyes hot as coals. Then he grabbed hold of the man's hand and twisted it sharp. Tinsley cried out, dropping to one knee instantly, his arm trembling with the strain as Ricky bent his wrist back even further. He couldn't move. He wouldn't dare. His elbow felt like it was going to snap.

" _This_ is how you hit a nerve," hissed Ricky, eyes narrowed. "Do you feel that, detective?"

"Get- Get off me, you bitch!" He let out a few panted breaths, his eyes squeezing shut. "Ooooh you bitch. You- _Aaah_ , ah, stop, stop okay."

"How about this," said Ricky, still spitting the words through his teeth. "You're going to give me your apartment key. We're going to go there now. And you're going to tell me exactly how to get in and out of Holly Horsley's office, which I am going to do tonight. And if you say no I'll break you entire fucking arm. Deal?"

"Ahhh, AH, stop fucking- Deal! Deal!" Tinsley fell forwards onto his free hand, shouting at the top of his lungs. "I SAID DEAL! I SAID-" 

Ricky let him go, watching him flop onto his side, clutching his hand to his chest. "Pathetic."

"Oh you're a goddamn bitch." Tinsley glared at him, panting for breath. "Oooh fuck you. Fuck you. Asshole."

"We're going to walk straight out." He clicked his fingers. "Now. Up. Come on."

"Don't fucking click your fingers at me." Tinsley pushed himself to his feet, still holding his wrist. It twinged every few seconds. "And we can't just walk out. We-"

"My mother won't question me leaving a party with a strange man," said Ricky with a sly smile. "And I doubt your lawyer friend will think much of you doing the same." He lowered his voice to a gossipy whisper, one hand cupping his mouth. "Word is you're a bit of a slut."

"It's not word. It's fact." Tinsley followed him out of the room, feeling entirely ticked off. "But surprisingly, I've changed my mind about sleeping with you. You're a dick."

"Don't give it if you can't take it, detective."

They went around the back of the house and across the driveway, Tinsley lingering a few feet behind. He slowed at the sight of the car, but he refused to comment on how nice it was. A Cadillac. Of course it was. He kept his pointy nose in the air as he sat into the passenger seat. Ricky spared him a withering look. Then he put out a hand.

"Give me your phone."

Tinsley scoffed. "Yeah, better luck next time, sweetcheeks."

"Give me your phone or I'll take it off you." He snatched it once it was within reach. "And stop calling me that."

"Alright, princess."

"You just go around begging for someone to punch you in the face," muttered Ricky, starting the engine and taking off towards the town. The manor's lights grew dimmer and dimmer behind them until it was nonexistent.


	9. The Art of Toying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically they TALK SHIT

Tinsley jammed the key into the lock and gave it a wiggle, praying for it to budge. It didn't budge. He threw Ricky a calm smile which clearly didn't fool the other man in any way. Then he rammed his shoulder into the door, jiggling the key like a madman. It finally clicked open. He let out a long  _aaah_ , like he'd just taken a refreshing sip of coffee.

"Home sweet home."

Ricky gave the back of his messy-haired head a flat look before following him into the apartment. His voice was just as flat. "It smells like something died in here."

"Shut up." Tinsley shoved open the few windows before turning back to him. "I haven't been home in a few nights. I was… gallivanting."

"Gallivanting?" Ricky snorted. "At which strip club?"

"No strip clubs," said Tinsley with just a touch of haughtiness. "Just me and my smooth words and anyone who takes my fancy."

"Smooth words, hm?" Ricky lit a cigarette to get the musty smell of the room out of his mouth. "Do let me know when you decide to use them."

Tinsley looked him over with a raised eyebrow. "Don't worry, your Highness. You're not someone who takes my fancy."

"Stop calling me that," snapped Ricky, watching him move into the kitchen and flick on the lights before pushing open that window too. "I don't like it."

"That doesn't mean much to me," muttered Tinsley, watching the man wander around his apartment with much too much familiarity.

Ricky crouched down in the doorway to the bedroom, picking up a pair of red lace underwear. "Yours, detective?"

Tinsley snatched them back and tossed them further into the room with a scowl before shutting the door over quick. "You're beginning to really get on my nerves. Knock it off."

"You sleep around a bit, do you?"

"What's it to you."

Ricky smiled at the sudden defensiveness to the detective's attitude. He didn't like someone being on his home turf, that much was clear. He watched the man's tall frame as he began making some drip coffee. He had a nice physique, Ricky supposed. Not exactly what he was used to himself, but he was tall and broad-shouldered and he was unexpectedly slim without the coat. His voice was gruff with reluctant politeness.

"Coffee?"

Ricky leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Sure."

"Hope you're not disappointed by the quality," said Tinsley, also folding his arms as he leaned a hip on the counter. The coffee started dripping steadily. "It's not shipped directly from Columbia on fine china."

"Don't worry, your delightful company makes up for it."

Tinsley raised an eyebrow at the cheek. "Good to know."

Ricky smiled, a sly curve at the corner of his mouth, a gesture that dripped mischief. Tinsley let himself appreciate it for a few seconds. Then he decided to wipe it off.

"Why did you kill that guy in the motel? Bit of a silver fox, I thought." Tinsley smiled when the other man stopped smiling, as if they were sharing the gesture. "He got off and then he got offed, hm?"

"I don't believe it's any of your business."

"You don't kiss and tell, no?"

Ricky shrugged, looking him over. "I don't tend to kiss at all, really. Better things to be at."

Tinsley didn't respond to this for a moment. Then he just gave him a dry smile before checking the coffee pot. It was half full. Half empty. He didn't care. There was coffee in it and that was what mattered. He poured two cups, resting a hand either side of them as he looked over his shoulder at where Ricky stood with a lit cigarette like a star from a movie. He mentally tutted.

"You probably take sugar, hm?"

Ricky shrugged. "Creamer, if you have it."

"Don't mess me around here, sweetcheeks."

Ricky rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sugar then. And milk."

He checked the fridge. "Milk's gone sour."

"This is just ridiculous."

"Oh, first no creamer, and now no milk? Next there'll be no gold plating for your toilet seat."

Ricky scowled at him. "Stop offering me stuff if you have no intention of giving it to me."

Tinsley crossed over to him, pushing the mug into his hands with a heavy dosage of eye contact. "As long as you stop doing the same to me."

Ricky looked up at him with just his eyes, but he could feel his face beginning to flush. He turned it aside, taking the mug from the man's long fingers. “Fine.”

“Great.” Tinsley sat halfway on the kitchen table, one foot still on the ground. “Now, back to what happened to your friend. Because it actually  _is_ my business. At least if I can give Holly some sort of information she might stay off my back for longer.”

Ricky took a mouthful of coffee, a deliberately slow one, watching him over the rim. “How much detail do I have to give.”

“Only what’s relevant,” said Tinsley.

“Okay.” Ricky stayed leaning against the wall, holding his mug in both hands. “He worked for my family. We started to, well...”

“Fuck.”

“Have sex,” corrected Ricky with a glower. “We’d started having sex. Usually at that motel. We wouldn’t tend to go together. So I arrived first and I got ready and he came in and we had sex."

Tinsley nodded calmly at this. “And did you and him usually get that rough?"

"I- What are you talking about?"

"I saw the DVD."

Ricky flushed again, taking a moment to cool down by sipping his coffee. He was surprisingly bashful. “We'd get rough enough.”

“I’ll need more detail.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Just for the night in question,” said Tinsley lightly. “Did you get any rougher than usual?”

“Why does it matter?” demanded Ricky, tilting his chin up. “It’s irrelevant.”

“I’m just wondering if he - or you - were violent.” Tinsley shrugged. “That’s all. Sometimes the most ‘irrelevant’ things can help a monumental amount, you know.”

Ricky pressed his lips together in a line, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, waiting for a smirk to slip onto the other man’s face. He sat up on the counter across from where Tinsley was lounging.

“He liked me to tie him up,” said Ricky after a few minute’s silence. “And I liked to tie him up. I like to be in control.”

“Oh, I’m shocked.” Tinsley raised an eyebrow at the flat glare thrown at him. “Did you ever hurt each other?”

Ricky thought about it for a concerning amount of time. “No. No, never seriously. Only if it was in the moment.”

“Like a slap or something.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m guessing you were the slapper and he was the slappee.”

“I don’t think you need to know any of that.” Ricky turned his nose up at him. “Now you’re just being inappropriate.”

“Don’t get all haughty with me, sweetcheeks. I’m not the one who slaps their boyfriend during sex.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” said Ricky firmly. “I knew you were just going to make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.” Tinsley shrugged, keeping his gaze lowered to his coffee as he took a sip. “Did he like being hurt?”

Ricky looked away under his lashes. “Yes. He liked to be hurt. Sometimes he, uh, he liked me to- to choke him. And things along those lines."

Tinsley watched him, unblinking. “And did you like hurting him?”

The silence lingered. Ricky stared at him for the entirety of it, his eyes dark and serious and his mouth unsmiling. Tinsley didn’t look away, didn’t move an inch. Eventually Ricky spoke, and he spoke quietly.

“Do you have a preferred answer to that, detective?”

Tinsley didn't react straight away. He kept his eyes on Ricky's, noting the sudden smoulder to them. Then he lowered his mug and said: "Now  _you're_ being inappropriate."

"Well look who's squirming now, big boy."

Tinsley tutted, getting off the table and moving to the window to let in his feline roommate. He heard Ricky's disapproving mutters, turning to face him with a roll of his eyes. "What. What is it now."

"I hate cats."

"Fuck you."

Ricky leaned back against the cupboards behind his shoulders, watching the other man wander a few steps away from the window before pausing, cupping his coffee in both hands. He hadn't sat once since they came in. He was still on edge, which meant he was smart. Not that Ricky didn't know this already. The man was smart and wily and cunning and downright dishonorable. And handsome. Ricky looked him over, all the way up and all the way down. He smiled at him. Tinsley didn't smile back.

"So what's the game plan here, Ricky. Why did you have to come back to my apartment first."

Ricky shrugged his shoulders. "No reason. I just wanted to snoop, really. So now we'll go to Holly's offices. Yes?"

"Can I say no?"

"Nope."

"Right."

They left their two mugs almost full and steaming. The dawn had started to break outside.

* * *

“We’re not taking your car.” Tinsley had his keys in hand, crossing the road in a relaxed stride. “We’re taking mine.”

“I don’t want to ride around in a pile of scrap metal,” said Ricky, stopping where he was with his hands on his hips. “Look at it. It’s one speed ramp away from falling apart.”

“Oh you’re so funny.” Tinsley turned to face him, one hand on the bonnet and the other on his hip. “This is less suspicious. We can’t drive around undetected in a brand new Cadillac, you idiot.”

“It’s a Bugatti.”

“I really could not care less.” Tinsley gave the bonnet of his car a hearty slap. “These are our wheels for the day, pal.”

“Don’t slap it too hard,” said Ricky with a raised eyebrow, reluctantly moving towards him. “Might crack it in half.”

"You know, you were a lot more suave and smooth and sexy when you kept your mouth shut."

Ricky just blew him a kiss across the roof before adding a wink onto the end. Then his face fell flat again and he sat into the car. He closed over the door, scowling at the dusty window. “When was the last time you cleaned this dinosaur.”

Tinsley closed his door with a long and hard sigh that ended in more of a growl than anything else. “If you’re so concerned with looking pretty, you can sit in the back with your shades on and pretend I’m your chauffeur.”

Ricky fixed him with a wry look, taking his sunglasses from the front of his shirt and flipping the arms open. He slid them on, one finger on the bridge. “Don’t tempt me.”

Tinsley replied to this with a _hrmph_ , fumbling his keys about until he found the right one. He rolled his eyes at the tut from the man beside him, slumping back in his seat.

“What. What is it now.”

“You’re very disorganised.”

“Sorry, mom.”

Ricky tutted again, attempting to roll down the window. He jiggled the handle a few times, trying again with both hands. “It’s- It’s stuck. Your window is stuck.”

“I knew you’d want to roll the damn window down,” muttered Tinsley, starting the engine. It coughed to life. “Can’t go anywhere without showing your face to the world, hm?”

“It’s warm,” shot back Ricky. “ _Your_ window is down.”

“That’s because my window goes down.” Tinsley popped on his own shades, throwing him a grin before pulling out onto the still street. “Sorry, sweetcheeks. You’ll just have to suffer.”

“Stop calling me stupid nicknames.” Ricky tried the window again with vigor as he spoke. “You sound like you have a crush on me.”

“You’re gonna break the damn thing!” Tinsley stopped the car, reaching across the other man and giving the handle a wriggle. “You just have to- See? There. Now you can stick your head out the window like a dog. A dog. Is that a better nickname for you?”

“I don’t want a nickname at all. Call me Ricky.”

“Not a chance, dollface.”

Ricky tutted yet again. He was tutting a tremendous amount around this man. “And what’ll I call you then?”

“Big boy was nice,” grinned Tinsley, his fingers tapping out a jaunty rhythm on the cracked leather steering wheel as they drove. “I suppose you could call me handsome. Or I had a lady friend who used to call me brown eyes. That was nice too.”

“I’m not your lady friend,” said Ricky with a sidelong glare.

“Well you wear more silk than any ladies I’ve ever met.” Tinsley gave his sleeve a pinch, rubbing the dark fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “Mm, luxurious.”

“Get off me,” muttered Ricky, brushing the man’s hand away. “You’re unbearable.”

“Sorry, your Highness.” He barely took breath as he talked. “I’m hungry. Breakfast?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I know a place. Hidden away, so you don’t have to be ashamed about being seen with me.”

Ricky gritted his teeth. “I think I’ll just go all day without a single meal. Alright?”

“Fine, you don’t have to eat. I, on the other hand, am ravenous.”

They ended up in a greasy diner on the corner of a greasy street. The floor was curling lino and the furniture was upholstered in a pink that was probably once a bright and brilliant red. The booths were laid out against a wall that was made entirely of windows. The glass was smudged. Ricky sat and sipped a coffee, his shades still on. Tinsley ate enough food for the both of them. He added a dash of rum to his coffee, raising an eyebrow when Ricky nudged his white ceramic cup forwards too. He shrugged before adding a drop to his too.

“I’m a bit surprised, Ricky. You didn’t strike me as a man who’d drink such a drink.”

Ricky took a mouthful of the hot liquid. “What would you call this drink?”

Tinsley shrugged. “Coffee and rum.”

“It’s called a _carajillo_ ,” said Ricky, before spreading his hands half-heartedly. “Spanish coffee. My mom is a sucker for them. I’ve probably been drinking it longer than you have.”

“Well I won't congratulate you, but alright.”

Ricky looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. He eyed the fries on the other man’s plate. “That looks incredibly unhealthy.”

“You never eaten a fry?” He popped one in his mouth with a dreamy roll of his eyes. “I guess that explains your sourness.”

“I’m not sour,” muttered Ricky, sinking a bit lower in his side of the booth. “You’ve just eaten the equivalent of a three course meal in ten minutes.”

“Look at me. It’s hard to keep me full.” He picked up the napkin provided, giving his mouth a wipe before tossing it back onto the table. Ricky eyed it with distaste. “You’re uptight, aren’t you.”

Ricky shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just not used to being… in places like this one.”

“You mean you’re not used to being in the real world.” Tinsley pushed his plate out of the way, focusing on his coffee. “Well next time, we can go to whatever five-star bistro you want, and you can pay.”

Ricky snorted. “You’d be as welcome as a hair in soup, big guy.”

“I’m shocked.” 

The waitress came by to their table again, popping her gum and swinging her hips. She smiled at Tinsley, but there wasn’t any feeling behind it. Her eyes were lustful. “Anything else I can get you, honey?”

Tinsley instantly altered his focus, looking her over with slow eyes. She was pretty. Not a candle to what was currently sitting across from him, but pretty nonetheless. “What else can I get.”

She shrugged, still staring at him with sultry eyes. “Anything you want.”

Ricky shook his head, watching over the rim of his cup as Tinsley scratched some figures down on the bill and handed it back to her with the cash and a wink. She wandered away, still swinging her hips. They left, moving across the street to the car parked up on double yellow lines.

“You do that a lot, hm?” Ricky waited for him to unlock the car. “Just give random people your number?”

“It wasn’t my number,” said Tinsley with another cheeky smile. “It was my address.”

“ _Díos mio_ , you’re ridiculous.”

“Well I don’t want to date the woman,” said Tinsley, folding his arms on the roof of the car. “But did you _see_ that ass in that skirt? That’s gonna be on me tonight, dollface.”

Ricky narrowed his eyes at him. “Right.”

“You can’t possibly be stuck-up about it.” Tinsley lit a cigarette as he talked, pushing the box of matches across the roof so that Ricky could light his too. “I saw a certain strip of fabric on your headboard. Out of interest, who's usually tied up?”

Ricky watched the match burn down for a few seconds before flicking it aside. “Out of interest, who do you think?”

“You like to be in control. So I’d say it isn’t you.”

“You’re a very good detective.” Ricky got into the car, resting an elbow on the door, holding the cigarette out into the sun. “As I said, we weren’t dating. We were sleeping togeth-”

“You were fucking,” said Tinsley lightly, starting the car. “You don’t need to put on airs around me, Mr Goldsworth. I’m aware of the grittier details in life.”

“Sex isn’t a gritty detail in my life, Tinsley.” He exhaled the smoke slow, leisurely. “I’d say it is in yours. You’re a bit rough around the edges.”

“And you’re more a luxury.”

Ricky turned his head to look at him over his sunglasses with a raised brow. “A luxury?”

“Look at you,” said Tinsley, not taking his eyes from the road as they continued on through the streets dark in the shade. “All smooth and shiny and pretty. I’d be scared to get a scratch on you.”

Ricky gave him a long look. Then he turned his head away to face out the window again. “Maybe you’re not that good of a detective after all.”

They drove the few blocks to the lawyer's building. Ricky told him to stop outside, and to point out all the entrances he knew, and he got the name of the receptionist and the usual security guards and Holly's private secretary too. He didn't write down a single thing. Tinsley saw the slight glaze to his eyes as he spoke, the wall that is put up when there's serious thought occurring behind the scenes. It was a pleasant look on his face, to have those black eyes not so sharp and go-to-hell. Tinsley answered what was asked until the questions stopped coming. It was an odd moment, from trading verbal digs to conversing like two businessmen at an important meeting. When they went quiet, they were quiet for a few minutes. Then Ricky ordered the car to go back to Tinsley's. Tinsley reluctantly did so. On the way, Ricky spoke again, his voice was level and velvety as beforehand.

"You won't try and pull a fast one here, will you."

"I can't tell if that's an order or a question."

"Because if you do," continued Ricky. "I'll outsmart you. I will. And then I'll kill you."

Tinsley raised his eyebrows at this. "Right. I get the message."

"And just know that you're working for me now."

"I wasn't aware of this."

"It doesn't matter whether or not you were aware. If I say it's so, it's so."

Tinsley parked the car in the lot nearby his apartment with a bit of attitude. He got out on his side and Ricky got out on the other. Tinsley waited for him to speak, to move, to do _something_. He was very serious behind his shades. And then he smiled, dazzling.

"Not going to invite me in for another coffee, no?"

Tinsley felt like he should say no, so he said yes. "Sure. We didn't exactly get to finish our last one, did we."

"Mm. And maybe I can show you what a real _carajillo_ tastes like."

Tinsley watched him swan past, turning his head to watch him go. He swiftly followed, as he would any ass as perfect as that one. The trousers had to be tailored. It was unreal. Tinsley bit on his knuckles, his gaze stuck to it.

People were only just starting to leave for work. Tinsley was very pleased with this. He went to open the apartment door with his keys, but Ricky got there first with his knife, opening it with a stab and a wiggle and a flick. He snapped the blade closed, flashing Tinsley a smile.

"My way's quicker."

Tinsley pressed his lips in a line. "Yes. I feel very safe."

"You don't like the idea of me being able to come into your apartment at all hours of the night, no?"

Tinsley closed the door behind them, leaning back against it with a deep breath as the other man sauntered off into the kitchen. He eventually followed, folding his arms and resting a shoulder against the door frame. Ricky was searching the cupboards now, probably for rum for the coffee. He was a sweet little thing. It was very easy to forget that in reality he was exactly the opposite. Tinsley swallowed.

"Are you fucking me around here?"

Ricky looked over his shoulder at him with an innocent flutter of his eyes. "Am I what?"

"Toying with me," said Tinsley loud and clear. "Why are you here right now. We're done for today, by my books. I have to meet Holly in fifteen minutes."

Ricky pouted, turning to face him, leaning back against the counter. "Oh. Pity."

"Yeah, a tragedy."

"You don't want me around?"

Tinsley gave him a warning look. "I don't like being toyed with. I'll make that clear now."

Ricky let the smirk play across his face for another minute or so. Then it dropped, and was replaced by something much more sinister, if no less appealing. "Fine."

Tinsley's face stiffened as the blade made another appearance, flashing in the light from the window. "What are you-"

"Sit down," said Ricky, quiet.

Tinsley backed towards the chair a few feet away, and Ricky followed, barely inches away from each other. Tinsley sat down, his eyes big and unblinking as Ricky placed one leg beside him and took him by the back of the neck for balance before he brought his other leg around so that he was straddling him. Tinsley had his gaze lowered but his chin up, feeling the breaths hot against his mouth. His hands were hesitant to touch the other man. They hovered either side of his waist, but didn't dare to make contact. Ricky brought the knife up, sliding it under the detective's tie before slicing through the fabric in one go. He tossed the tie aside. Tinsley could taste his heart in his throat. He swallowed. He closed his eyes as the knife was flicked shut. A few long seconds of silence. 

Ricky's hands were hot on his shoulders as the man settled himself closer, watching Tinsley's face from behind black lashes, and he sat back and peeled his shirt off over his head before chucking it aside. Tinsley looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, his cheeks swiftly growing red. His hands rested either side of Ricky's waist, thumbs pressing in, before he let them slide around and up his back to his shoulders, fingers curling over them, feeling the raw strength, the power. Tinsley let his hands slip back down to stop at the man's belt, his eyes lowered to watch as he unbuckled it and unbuttoned his trousers. Ricky had his hands on the detective's shoulders, thumbs resting across the bottom of his neck, pressing in just a tad. It didn't seem to worry him. The man kept his lowered gaze on Ricky's lips, his own mouth parted. Then he pushed his hands around and down into the man's trousers to grip his ass hard enough to make him jump. Tinsley maneuvered him forwards, settling him nice and comfortable across his hips, fingers still digging into his ass like he owned it. He couldn't tell whether Ricky was appreciative or annoyed. Ricky couldn't tell either. 

Tinsley nudged forward, his pointy nose brushing past Ricky's, his mouth open, waiting. Ricky angled his head just that bit more, closing the small space between their lips. He kissed him with surprising softness, their mouths and their bodies pressing together, and he heard a low sigh from Tinsley, a sound of relief. He felt his hands moving up his back, slowly, mapping out every inch they could feel. Ricky increased the pressure, letting his lips part, feeling Tinsley do the same almost instantly, their tongues meeting, brushing, and Tinsley leaned into it, his hands gripping Ricky's waist to help keep the man upright. Ricky's arm was firm around his neck, the other hand running through his thick head of hair, fingers curling in it, holding his head at the right angle. Then he pulled his head back, hearing the low grunt from Tinsley as he did so. Ricky looked down his nose at him, smiling devilishly. He leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to the man's bared throat, trailing them down between the buttons of the open collar of his shirt. He rested his hands on Tinsley's chest for balance, and he could feel the man take a deep breath and let it out slow, and he could feel his hands swiftly returning to where they'd started. They took a hold of his ass again, just because, in this moment, they could.

All of a sudden, Tinsley pushed himself to his feet, keeping a firm grip on the other man's ass as he carried him to the kitchen counter and set him down on it like it was where he was supposed to be. Then he stopped. He didn't kiss him. He didn't touch him. He just said: "I have to meet Holly in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes is fine," replied Ricky with a grin, pulling at the detective's belt.

Tinsley caught hold of his wrists, suddenly quite stern. "No." He lowered his voice. "Fifteen minutes isn't enough time for me to do what I want to do to you."

Ricky's grin slipped away at the quiet voice. "...Oh. Okay."

Tinsley picked up his shirt and handed it back to him. "I'll see you some other time then."

Ricky paused at the door, buttoning up his shirt. "Yeah. You will." Then he left.


	10. Collateral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyy quik updat

"So I said 'fifteen minutes isn't enough time'."

"Oh, that's hot." The waitress continued wiping the same spot of the counter, pushing the cloth in circles. "Bit unusual for you not to dive in head-first, but yeah."

Tinsley shook his head, his fingers resting across his mouth, an oddly pensive look on his face. He was sat in an armchair by the window, relaxed back and legs crossed. "I changed my mind at the last second."

" _You_ changed your mind?" 

"Yeah, because I suddenly remembered how he stabbed that guy twenty-five times in the chest when they slept together." His eyebrows raised a tad, but his gaze stayed distant. "I was struck with an overwhelming urge not to end up like that guy. Especially as I've had a taste of it already."

She pursed her lips. "Yeah. Like, I've seen you take some questionable people into your apartment, but none have been as questionable as an active hitman for a money-laundering family."

"...But he's hot."

"Yeah, he's hot."

"Pros and cons, hm." He tapped a knuckle against his closed mouth. “…I still want to fuck him.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Ever since I saw that recording from the motel, I just-” He clenched his fist. “-need to plow. It’s just who I am.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper as he got up and came over to the counter. “Was it good?”

He whispered back, the most sincere she’d ever seen him. “You ever seen The Wire?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that opening scene with McNulty and the waitress?” He nodded at the 'no way' look on her face. “That’s what he was like. I mean proper sending that man’s soul from his body. Until he like, literally did that and stabbed him a bunch of times but-” He gave her a serious look, his voice staying quiet. “-I want that  _on_  me.”

“Oh?”

“I want him to ride me into the damn sunset.”

She nodded in understanding.

“I want to do it all with him,” he continued, one elbow resting on the counter between them. “I want cowgirl. Reverse cowgirl. Sideways saddle.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “I want him to sit on my face. I-”

“Shh.”

“No, listen to me. His ass is out of this fucking world. It’s just…” He cupped his hands in front of him. “…perfect. Round. I mean a proper bubble butt.”

“Tinsley-”

“And I want it on my face. I want my face  _in_  it. I-”

“Tinsley!”

He glared at the audacity of her interrupting his rambling. “What!”

Her face was scalding red. She was staring at someone beside him. Tinsley turned his head aside and down to look him in the face. Ricky was staring back, eyes narrowed and jaw set. He didn’t seem too impressed. Tinsley kept one elbow resting on the counter before linking his hands in quite a formal manner altogether.

“Did you hear any of that?”

Ricky was still glaring at him. “Almost all of it.”

Tinsley nodded, casual, giving the end of his nose a rub as he sniffed. “Any thoughts?”

“Yeah. The only thing you can do to my ass is kiss it.”

“I know that was meant to be a play on words, but taking it literally, I would.”

Ricky ignored this, ordering just a cappuccino from the waitress before essentially cornering the taller man against the counter. He spoke low and sharp. "You're not allowed talk about me to people."

"Why not?"

"Because if anything goes wrong, they become witnesses," he said, like explaining basic math to a particularly dumb five-year-old. "And if things go even more wrong, they become collateral damage. Do I need to go into more detail or can you get your idiot head around that."

"Jeez, what's with the attitude."

Ricky took his coffee, giving Tinsley a long look with serious eyes. "You're not exempt from becoming collateral either. Just remember that."

"Been there, done that, got the t-shirt." Tinsley tailed him out the door, hands in his coat pockets. It was a chilly day, but dry, and the leaves were a crisp green. "Where are you off to?"

"Work."

"Oh. Can I come?"

"Absolutely not."

"You're giving me the cold shoulder now, are you?"

Ricky squinted at him, trying to tell if he was serious. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm guessing you're just not too used to people telling you 'no'."

Ricky laughed, a bright sound. "God, detective. You're overestimating your importance in my life by tenfold." He shook his head, continuing on. " _Dios mío_ , you're one cocky son of a bitch."

Tinsley stuck beside him, one hand out of his pocket to gesture vaguely as he spoke. "Look, I still want to sleep with you. I mean, that's pretty out there already. It's pretty much the only reason we're still talking to each other, right? But I just need you to promise that you won't decide to do a Gone Girl on me halfway through."

"I'm not going to sleep with you," said Ricky just as airily.

Tinsley's brows drew together in a frown. "You what?"

"You really think I give people multiple chances?" Ricky laughed again, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. "Oh, you're funny. You're very funny."

"Wait, wait, backtrack a minute there." He stepped around in front of him, bringing them both to a halt. "You're not interested anymore."

"Well, I'm quite busy as of now. I'm actually on my way to steal from a prominent lawyer." He smiled, sweet. "So you gave me everything I wanted and I guess you got... well, nothing in return! _Quel dommage_."

"This has been the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever."

Ricky winked at him, a gesture he seemed to be quite the master of. It was perfectly flirtatious. "You have a good day now, detective. And thanks for your help."

"Whatever, dickwad."

Ricky skipped off without a care in the world, stopping across the road from Holly Horsley's building. He could probably just scale the side until he got to the fire escape, but that could be a bit too suspicious to any passersby. So he decided to play the charm, and just walk right in the front door.

It was a nice lobby, all shiny marble floors and a large, curved, dark wood desk where the receptionist was currently sat. Other than that, it was quite empty. Ricky went right up to the receptionist and flashed her a smile. She smiled back, seeming a bit dumbfounded. Perfect.

"Hey, I'm just looking for an appointment with Holly Horsley."

"Oh, she's actually with a client in her office right now," said the receptionist, fumbling with her words. "If I could, um, get a name and maybe your number, for her, and she could-"

"It's a bit urgent," he said with an apologetic smile. "I'm sure I could just go up and wait outside her office, right?"

"Usually that's not really allowed..."

He folded his arms on the table, his gaze lowering to check her name badge, as if he hadn't already gotten as much details about every single member of staff already. "Okay, Anna, how about this. I'm doing some work for Holly's shadier cases, hence the reason there's no appointment booked. But she's expecting me, and I wouldn't say she'll be too impressed if you hinder my progress here, yeah?"

"Oh. Oh, okay." She frowned, looking at the door. "It's usually Tinsley who does this stuff."

"Yeah, well, he's occupied."

"Yeah, I can imagine," she muttered, quite bitter altogether.

Ricky decided not to get involved in whatever her tone had hinted at, and just went for the elevator. He got in and pressed all the floors, of which there were ten. Her office turned out to be on the seventh. He dumped his cup in a trash can along the corridor. The place was deathly silent. Her office had her name enameled on a flat piece of metal on the front of the door. The room was empty. Ricky had to be quick. He stepped into the room and pulled on his black gloves, nice and tight. Then he closed the door over behind him, careful with the handle. He gave it a wipe with a napkin after, just in case. Then he observed the room. He'd start with the basics.

He went to the filing cabinet and searched through the folders under the letter G. Nothing. Then he checked under M for money-laundering. Again, nothing. Maybe she kept her more recent folders elsewhere. He went around to her desk and checked the top drawers, of which was nothing exactly useful. The bottom one was locked, and this was one he couldn't just go at with a knife. He couldn't leave scratches or dents or any indication that there had been a break-in. So he got down on one knee and examined the lock. It was a wafer lock, as most desk drawers were. He took his small set of picks from his back pocket and took out the tension wrench. He let his gloved fingers dance over the selection of picks, thoughtful. Then he took the ball pick and went to work, the tip of his tongue held between his teeth. After a minute of concentration, the drawer popped open. He flipped through the few files, and again, nothing relevant to him. That was when he noticed the small safe tucked under the desk. He closed the drawer and pushed the chair out from the desk before moving to the safe. It was about the size of a mini-fridge, but a good bit heavier. He maneuvered it out from under the desk and placed it on top. He sat down in the chair and scooched himself nice and close. He put an ear to it, and began turning the dial slowly, ever so slowly, listening to the faint clicking from inside. It wasn't a very expensive safe, it seemed. It took him only the guts of 20 minutes to have open. Inside was a gun and a small set of accounts. He flipped through them, just in case there was anything relevant. Nada. He sighed harshly before shutting it over and putting it back under the desk. Then he sat in the chair for a while, legs crossed and gloved hands rubbing against each other. It was time to get inventive.

He went to the bookcase by the left wall and felt around them for any fake set of books. They were all real. He took the clock down from the wall and checked the back; again, nothing, although there were old sellotape marks. He got down on his hands and knees and checked under the filing cabinets, and although he found a box of jewelry, it wasn't what he wanted. He checked the underside of each drawer for anything taped into place. He did the same to the drawers in the desk, feeling around the backs of them, checking them for any fake undersides. He went to the two client chairs and felt under the bottoms; bingo. A panel came off on a hinge, and two or three files came with it. He took the one marked **_money-laundering cartel (?)_** and checked it was the relevant one before he tucked it under his arm.

"You're very thorough."

Ricky looked over his shoulder at the doorway with a glare. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Tinsley shrugged, hands in his coat pockets. "I've changed my mind. I told you Holly is my most important client. I don't want to risk losing her."

Ricky snorted, strolling towards him. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to stop me."

Tinsley took his hand from his pocket and let rip with the pepper spray, his expression remaining neutral. Ricky flailed wildly, stumbling aside, shouting and cursing and clamping his hands over his eyes as he dropped to his knees. Tinsley picked up the file, holding it under his arm like it was a newspaper.

"I can't see! I can't fucking see!" Ricky still had his eyes squeezed shut, and they were watering, dripping down his cheeks. He felt out blindly. "Oh you wait until I fucking get my hands on you, you gangly bitch. Oh fucking hell, _fuck_ this."

Tinsley took the key from the door and stepped outside and locked it from the hallway. Then he went on home, whistling a jolly tune all the way.

* * *

"Oh _mi querido_." Lucy stood in the doorway, looking at where Ricky lay on his bed with two cool teabags over his eyes and Pablo on his chest. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he replied through gritted teeth. He'd been lying where he was for the past half an hour.

"Let me see." She sat on the side of his bed and risked peeling back one of the tea bags. "Oh, pepper spray. It's very painful, isn't it."

His eye and the skin around it was reddened. "Yeah."

She pressed her lips in a line, wondering if she should probe. "...Was it the detective?"

Ricky sat upright, catching Pablo in his arms before the dog could fly into the air like the teabags did. "Yeah it was the fucking detective. I'm going to kill him."

"Maybe this is good for you," said Lucy, watching him stand up and pace around the room in his pajamas. He was wary, one hand holding Pablo like a sack of potatoes, and one out to make sure he didn't walk into anything. "You were getting a bit too confident, _querido_."

"No, he cheated," said Ricky icily. "He goddamn pepper sprayed me in broad daylight."

"Then you just have to cheat better and smarter," she said, watching him almost walk straight into his chest of drawers. The contents rattled. "You seem very upset by it."

"Oh, no I'm not. I'm just going to break his stupid pointy nose the next time I see him."

"Well you shouldn't have gone into Holly Horsley's offices without discussing it with me," said Lucy firmly, getting to her feet and pulling her robe more firmly around her. "If we can avoid conflict, then we'll go that route. And she seems open to some level of negotiation which would leave us intact but might require a sacrifice or two. In fact, she's coming over for dinner tonight to discuss some aspects." She smiled. "Not that she's aware as of yet."

"Well as long as the terms and conditions include me putting that son of a bitch through the floor, I'll take it."

" _You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war_." She inclined her head. "Who said that, Ricardo?"

He waved a hand. "I don't know. Obama."

"Napoleon. Ricky, stop pacing." She took hold of his shoulder and sat him down on the bed, firmly. "Don't act on this. Give yourself a day to calm down and get into the right mindset. Okay?"

He scowled at her with his red eyes. The skin around his eyes and across his nose was blotchy. "Fine." He flopped back onto the bed, hugging Pablo to him. The dog seemed perfectly content with being flailed around like a doll. Its little tail wagged. "Can I have some green tea."

"Sure, I'll have it made now. With honey, yes?"

He smiled. "Thanks _mamá_."

She gave his cheek a pinch and left. A cup of green tea was delivered up to his room by the housekeeper. He drank it slow and waited for the world outside to turn dark. Pablo waited patiently on his lap, before being picked up and placed on the carpet. He waddled around after his owner, watching him get dressed in dark clothes and take a little something from his drawer before popping it up his black sleeve. He followed Ricky out to the balcony, and he watched between the bars as his owner slipped over them and disappeared into the night, as he so often did. Pablo didn't mind. He sat down and started his usual wait.

* * *

Tinsley was chilled out on his bed, his head propped on a pillow and his laptop on his lap. The cat was draped across his legs, entirely limp. He'd just received a big 'thank you' text from Holly after he'd revealed his rescue mission from earlier. It had turned into a pleasant evening, which he was allowing himself to enjoy. His phone lit up again. He made the big mistake of checking who it was. It was an unknown number, but he didn't have to guess.

_I'm outside._

Tinsley looked down his nose at the text for a moment. He pushed his laptop off to the side and removed the cat from his shins and put on shoes and shrugged on his coat. He made sure to slip the pepper spray into his pocket. It had turned out to be quite a useful investment after all.

The car was parked across the street, as shiny and flashy as ever. Tinsley sat into the passenger seat with a friendly smile.

"Hey."

Ricky wasn't looking at him. His hands were gripping the wheel, white-knuckled. He was wearing a loose black sweater, the sleeves down around his hands. "What you did earlier was entirely out of line."

"I know. I specialize in going above and beyond."

"No, no, it wasn't above or beyond anything," hissed Ricky, hands still gripping the steering wheel. "It was low. It was very low. Pepper spray? Really? Honestly? Seriously?"

Tinsley shrugged. "Well I didn't really see myself doing too well going hand-to-hand with you."

"I should kick your ass around the block."

"You can't." Tinsley tapped his pocket. "I'm armed."

"You're a damn nightmare."

"Well you're the one who decided to drop by at-" He checked his watch with a flourish."-half one in the morning to say hello."

Ricky's fingers flexed on the wheel, gripping it twice as tightly. "I couldn't quite resist the urge to come over and shout many harsh words at you. Pepper spray, I mean, for crying out loud."

"Is that another play on words or is that accidental?"

"Are you okay?" Ricky squinted at him before giving him a sharp tap on the side of the head. "I mean, is everything in place up there?"

"Ow, don't touch me."

"Or what."

"Or this."

Tinsley took the small canister of pepper spray from his pocket, holding it out towards the other man, finger on the trigger. Ricky shrank away instantly, curling up against the car door, his hands out, like a cat that's had a spray bottle of water aimed at it. The detective grinned. He felt quite powerful indeed. Then Ricky's hand barely flickered, and there was a similar little can in his hand. He pressed down on the button.

"AAAAHH!" Tinsley fell back against his door, hitting his head off the window. "FUCK! FUCK, MY EYES!"

He sprayed his own in Ricky's general direction, blindly, and within seconds they had scrambled out of the poisonous car, stumbling around in the dark like drunks. Tinsley fell against the bonnet, letting himself slide off it and to the pavement, wiping at his streaming eyes with his coat sleeves as he let out a flurry of furious curses. Ricky was sat on the ground somewhat near him, his head tilted back and his own sleeves pressed into his eyes. He was rocking slightly, biting on his lip to stop himself from screaming. It took a while before the pain had lessened enough to allow them to move again. Tinsley crawled towards his apartment like a dying man crawling towards the fountain of youth.

"Yeah, you better run," came Ricky's voice, sounding somewhat choked. "Bitch."

"I'm getting milk. I have milk."

A silence. "Can I have some. I'm sorry for calling you a bitch."

"You can fucking wait there."

After a few minutes Tinsley did return, and he had a pint of milk in one hand. He glared at Ricky with slightly-less-red eyes than before, and Ricky glared back, although there were still tears dripping down his face. Tinsley held out the glass in a reluctant peace offering, scowling at the ground. Ricky took it, tilting his head back and letting it run into his eyes. It felt _good_. It felt so good. He let out a long sigh, lasting until the glass was entirely empty. Then he handed it back over.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Tinsley sniffed, a wet sound. He wiped at his nose with his sleeve. "You came all the way here to pepper spray me."

"Yeah."

"Right." A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Determined. I like that."

Ricky wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too afraid to move them like so in the current situation. "I couldn't rest until I'd done it."

"And do you feel better now?"

"Marginally." He gave his eyes one last wipe with the backs of his hands, also sniffing. "And now I'm going to go home."

"Right. Drive safe."

"As if you care."

Tinsley stood in the doorway to his apartments, watching the man make his cautious way across the road and into the car. He rolled down all the windows, airing it out for a few minutes. Then he got in and drove off. And Tinsley realized that, maybe, he did care. Just a little bit. Just a little, tiny bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also if y'all are curious as to The Wire scene that's referenced this is it
> 
> https://youtu.be/OhaZunwvW5o?t=199
> 
> but like BE CAREFUL because 1. it's a sex scene (that's like 5 seconds long) and 2. there's a lot of sex noises so DON'T WATCH if u don't have headphones on  
> but yea tinsley's in for the _ride_ of his _life_ winkyface


	11. The Perfect Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nsfw like right from the start to the end boyos

It was a warm night. The balcony doors were open and the lights were off. The bed was occupied, but Ricky wasn't asleep. He wasn't even trying. He was sat astride the gardener, hands gripping the man's legs behind him as he rode him hard and fast and without much finesse. The gardener was an older man of about forty, but he was better looking than any of the rest of the staff, and really, Ricky liked his men more experienced. Not that he was giving this one the opportunity to show any. The gardener managed to force some words out between his panted breaths, just audible over the sound of the headboard striking the wall.

"S-Slow down."

Ricky ignored this, watching his face with vague interest. The guy was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Not bad at all. He brushed the man's hands away from his hips for the hundredth time - they were just getting in the way.

"Ricky, I- I'm going to come, I- Slow _down_."

It was as if he hadn't even opened his mouth. Ricky let his head tilt back and his eyes close, and he bit on his lip as he felt the man under him buck his hips. Ricky held on, letting go of the man's legs, riding him with nothing for balance but his hips and his thighs. That was all he needed. And just as he was getting into it, he heard the man come. He rolled his eyes, shoulders slumping. He got off him with a sigh, flopping back onto the bed as the man beside him panted for breath. Ricky reached aside for his cigarettes, lighting one and smoking half of it before saying: "Wait there."

He went into the bathroom where Pablo was camped and had a shower, still feeling as frustrated as he had before he'd decided to do some enticing. He stood on the balcony in his robe and had another cigarette and gazed towards the city. For a second, he was glad he wasn't back in his apartment, just a quick drive from a certain detective's home. Thoughts had been plaguing him since night fell. Thoughts of hands on his back, large and rough and strong, and the taste of him in his mouth. He was a good kisser. He kissed like they did in the movies, all hot and hungry and passionate. Ricky scowled at the ground below his balcony, arms folded on the balustrade. He took his phone from his pocket and held it loosely in his hand, debating, considering, weighing it both literally and metaphorically. Then he locked it again and put it back in his pocket. He went back to the bed and sat across the gardener's hips again, as if he was just a doll. Which is really all he was in the current situation. At least he didn't talk the whole time. One of the previous butlers had been awful for that. Ricky took the lube from the bedside locker and applied it before starting up again, hands on the man's chest, eyes closed as he tried to imagine someone else under him. A particular someone else. He rolled his hips, slower but harder than before, his head tilting aside, eyes fluttering. His lips parted to let out a quiet sigh, and he let his hands move behind him to slip between the man's thighs and grip the backs of them, using them for leverage as he picked up the pace.

"Fuck," he breathed, feeling the hands on his waist, gripping his body. "Ah- _Fuck_ me, you- God, _Tinsley_ , fuck."

He pushed his hips in circles, his head falling back, his throat bared as he let out quiet moans. The hands rested on his hips, guiding them back and forth, and Ricky didn't swat them away. Then the gardener moaned, and Ricky was reminded of who he was actually on, and it suddenly didn't feel the same. He finished him off quickly, just to get it over with. Then he told him to leave. He lay awake for an hour or so. Then he gave in and picked up his phone.

* * *

"But who do you _prefer_ sleeping with? Guys or girls?"

Tinsley shrugged, still lying on his back, one hand behind his head and the other managing a cigarette. "I don't know. It's different. Like, I find girls a bit harder to satisfy in bed, but maybe guys are just ridiculously easy. And then like, boobs are great, but if a guy has a good ass then I actually prefer that? I don't know, I think it's all just personal preferences."

The waitress accepted his offered cigarette, taking a drag before passing it back. "Well, _I'm_ satisfied. But I have a hunch you're not."

He shrugged again, the covers shifting as she sat up. "I don't know. I guess not. It's not you, I just have things on my mind."

She smiled, just a bit teasing. "Do you know my name?"

Tinsley turned his head to frown at her, and he was quiet for a worrying moment. "Yeah. It's Emily, right?"

"Yeah. Not Ricky."

"...Meaning?"

"You called me Ricky like, five times, man."

Tinsley flushed. It was the first and only time she ever saw him do such a thing. "Oh. Uh, woops."

She propped herself up on her elbow, an eyebrow raised. "You still want to sleep with him, so why don't you just do it?"

"Because- Because- I don't know, it's like a whole thing now." He turned to face her, like they were just having a sleepover and hadn't been engaged in loud sex only minutes beforehand. "I mean, there's a bit of a power imbalance, and I know he has the upper hand because _he_ knows I'd crawl through a mile of broken glass just to be able to _touch_ that ass, but I don't want him to know that I know that he has the upper hand so I'm trying to play it off all cool, because... Well, I don't know why."

"I do. And it's because you're not used to having to work so hard to have someone sleep with you."

Tinsley opened his mouth to reply with some acidic comment. Then he closed it. Then he rolled onto his back and draped his hand across his eyes with a groan. "But _why_ is he making it so hard?"

"Well, like, from the sound of things he's a power bottom, right?"

"The most powerful in all the land."

She rolled her eyes. "So like, from my limited knowledge, maybe it's just a powerplay thing? Asserting dominance? Maybe?"

He scowled at the ceiling. "Well that just won't work out."

"Yeah, you're kind of dominant in bed. But it's nice." She took another pull on his cigarette. "So what'll you do if he wants to be on top the whole time?"

"Just- Just roll, I guess."

"If he's really like that waitress from The Wire, you won't be rolling anything."

He pressed his lips in a line. "Yeah. And he said he likes tying the other guy up during sex. I mean-" He rubbed a wrist. "-to the headboard, y'know? God, that would be so hot. I think I'd pass out. Shit, what if he kills me. What if I die."

She rolled her eyes again as she got up and started getting dressed. "I'm into work early in the morning, so I'm gonna go. It was fun though."

"Thank you for aiding me in stemming my insatiable horniness."

"Oh my God, shut up."

The sound of the front door closing blended into the sound of his buzzing phone. He lifted his head, scowling at the lit-up screen. His scowl slipped slightly when he saw who it was. Well, it was an unknown number, but it was the same unknown number from a few nights ago. They hadn't seen each other since the pepper spray incident, which _should_ have been enough to ensure that they never wanted to see each other again. Alas, it didn't seem to be. Tinsley answered the phone, lying back on his bed to glower at the dark ceiling.

"What. What do you want."

"I don't know." The shrug was clear even through the phone. "I guess I wanted to let you know that I just fucked a total dilf."

Tinsley rolled his eyes. "That's interesting. You mustn't be very satisfied, if you still have the energy to call me."

"My energy when it comes to spite is infinite."

"Yeah, I'd believe that." He sat upright, rubbing at his nose. "Well I also just had unsatisfactory sex. What a coincidence."

"Tragic." A pause. "I guess we'll both just spend the night unsatisfied then."

"Speak for yourself." Tinsley lay back down, one hand behind his head. "I have an old friend who's about your height and size that I may make contact with. If you catch my drift."

A moody silence. "You're one step away from being a full-on hooker, and that one step is the fact that you don't charge."

"Well that's because I don't do it for the money," said Tinsley distractedly, sending the text to his 'old friend' before he could change his mind. "I do it for the pleasure."

"Your friend won't give you half the pleasure I'd be able to give you."

"Is that an invitation to phone sex? Because I accept."

"You have absolutely no respect for yourself."

"Oh fuck yeah, talk dirty to me." Tinsley let out a suggestive sigh. "Tell me I'm a disappointment."

Ricky tutted. "Just remember when you're stuck in the middle of even more unsatisfactory sex, that you could've had me."

"I actually don't think it'll be unsatisfactory," said Tinsley lightly. "From what I remember, he's verse. He knows his way around."

"He's verse?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"Interesting." A pause. "Be a shame if he bumped into a charming and beautiful man before he could get to yours."

Tinsley sat upright again, eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"I would. I could." A smug silence. "And I'm probably going to."

* * *

He did. He kept an eye on the texts being sent between Tinsley and his friend as he drove over, feeling quite mischievous indeed. He parked his car around the corner and got out, popping his earphones in as he spied a car pulling up across the road from the entrance to Tinsley's apartments. It parked sloppily, most likely because the driver expected to be in and out of the apartment pretty swiftly. Ricky smiled to himself, smoothing down his t-shirt. Time to a play a little.

He started a spontaneous jog, just casual, just out for a run in the middle of the night. He had to time it perfectly, and of course, he did. The car door opened and Ricky ran right into it with a convincingly surprised curse. The driver apologized instantly, getting out. He was good looking, but not particularly to Ricky's taste. In this situation, however, it could be waved.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the man with wide eyes. He paused at the sight of Ricky's face for a second before continuing. "I- I didn't even see you coming, I-"

"No, no, it's fine." Ricky gave him his most dashing smile, taking an earphone out. "I shouldn't be wearing dark clothes. It was half my fault."

"No, honestly, it was mine."

"Don't panic, I swear it's all good." Ricky winked at him. "Maybe you can buy me a coffee sometime as a formal apology, hm?"

The man smiled like the situation was simply too good to be true. "Oh! Oh, I-"

"Hi! Hello." Tinsley almost fell over the bonnet in his urgency to enter the scene. He smiled at Ricky with painful insincerity, resting his elbow on the roof of the car. "Hiiii."

Ricky returned it just as falsely. "Heyyy."

"How are youuuu."

"I'm gooood."

The man between them looked from one to the other with just his eyes, wary. "...Do you two know each other?"

Tinsley thought quickly, but not intelligently. Speed was of the essence. "I see him around sometimes. He's a stripper."

Ricky's face dropped. "Excuse me? I'm not a fucking-"

"Oh, dancer, whatever you want to call it." Tinsley waved a vague hand at him as he turned back to the other man. "At that club around the corner. You know, the one where all the employees have herpes."

"I don't fucking have herpes, you dick." Ricky went one further, without hesitation. "And maybe I wouldn't have had to quit school and start stripping if you hadn't fucked my dad and ruined my family."

"Woah, woah, okay." The man between them sat halfway into his car, eyes wide in alarm. "I'm gonna go. I- Yeah, I have to go."

He closed the car door and left, quite rapidly indeed. Ricky watched the car go, feeling like there should've been steam coming from his ears he was so mad. He looked at Tinsley's cool smile. _Bastard_.

"You crossed the line there. Again. I'm beginning to doubt if a line even exists in your head."

Tinsley shrugged, dusting his hands off as he crossed the quiet road back to his apartments. " _You_ challenged _me_ , babes. So blame yourself."

Ricky followed him, dogged. "You know, I have _never_ met someone like you in my life. Even in my career. And I have met criminal upon criminal and you still just take the damn cake."

"Is this just because I said you had herpes? Because personally, I thought that was hilarious." He threw a worried look over his shoulder at him. "Wait, you don't actually have herpes, do you?"

"Do you think this is all some stupid game?"

Tinsley whipped around so suddenly the shorter man almost walked right into him. "Do you _not_ think this is all some stupid game? Some- Some-" The waitress's words struck him. "-powerplay?"

Ricky scoffed. "Powerplay?"

"Yeah. Powerplay."

He spared him a wry smile. "Tinsley, baby. I don't have to play games when it comes to power."

"Then what would you say has been going on here." He gestured between them, trying to act casual, even though he could feel the heat rising to his face due to a certain two words just spoken by the other man. "What would you call this."

Ricky pondered it. He bounced his optional replies back and forth inside his head. Then his face took on a challenging edge, his eyes narrowing a tad, his lips curving in a sly smile. "How about we discuss it. Over a drink."

Tinsley arched an eyebrow. "A drink."

"That's what I said."

Tinsley pushed his sleeve further along his forearm, checking his watch. "Hm. It's late."

"I'm aware."

Another silence, Tinsley watching him sidelong for a few long seconds. Then he faced him directly, accepting the challenge. "Somewhere close by. So I can walk home."

"I know the perfect place."

"Of course you do."

* * *

It was the perfect place, Tinsley had to admit. To himself. Not out loud. It was nearby, and it was underground, and it was small. The place was just about lit by lamps along the wall, and the music was low. There were tables dotted around the centre, and along the left of the room was the long dark bar, and to the right of the room were booths, tucked away, even darker. This was where they were seated. In fact, they were the only two people left, and they were both multiple drinks in. It was just an exercise in self-restraint at this point. Ricky pushed his folded arms across the table, kittenish.

"I can't talk about my job. It's against the _rules_."

"Well just tell me when to stop." Tinsley raised one finger, then two, then three, then four, his eyes growing wider as he went along. Ricky stopped him at nine. "Nine? You've-" He dropped his voice, leaning forwards too. "You've killed _nine_ _people_? Jesus Christ. And you've never been caught?"

Ricky smiled, teasing, chin resting on his hand. "Not until you."

Tinsley returned the smile, just as teasing. "Stop. You'll make me feel special."

Ricky let a hand drift out to trace light circles on the table between them, lowering his gaze, his dark lashes cuddling his cheeks. Then he raised them again to look at him, surprisingly submissive. "Are you intimidated by me."

Tinsley rested an arm over the back of the booth, his other hand holding his empty glass on the table, turning it in circles. It left slow condensation marks on the surface. "No. I've seen worse than you."

"Have you slept with anyone worse than me?"

Tinsley thought back to his lawyering days, and all his gallivanting. "I've slept with a murderer or two before. You're nothing new."

Ricky raised a dark eyebrow. "And you were never scared."

"No."

"How."

Tinsley looked him in the eye. "Because I always made sure I was the one in control."

Ricky tilted his head aside, resting it on his folded arms. "And what if you weren't in control. Would you be scared then."

"It sounds like you'd want me to be scared." Tinsley raised his brows, bringing his drink to his mouth. "Is that a kink for you?"

"Firstly, your glass is empty. Secondly, no. But it helps."

Tinsley glanced at the bar. It was empty. The whole place was empty. His vision was just a bit slow. "Where is everyone?"

"Gone." Ricky smiled, biting on his lip. It was a smile that Tinsley felt in his hip pocket. "My family owns this place."

"You're ridiculous."

Tinsley got to his feet, picking up both their glasses in one hand to go and refill them himself. He could feel the other man's eyes on him the entire time. He struggled a tad to walk straight, but he made it over and back with only three spills. He plonked himself down in his side of the booth, and he looked into those black eyes, and they looked back. Ricky took a deep breath, finally sitting back. His words were slow.

"Do you think we're being smart?"

Tinsley shrugged. "Almost never."

"I don't think we are." He leaned forwards again, like it was all a big secret. The drink had brought some colour to his cheeks. "I think we're being stupid."

"...Stupid is sexy sometimes." Tinsley watched him stand up, an eyebrow raised. "Leaving already?"

Ricky didn't answer. Not verbally. He circled the table, letting a hand brush along the surface, before sitting down beside the detective, nice and close. He smiled at the flustered look on his face. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Tinsley unfolded his arms, sitting back. "You're not shy."

" _You_ are."

"No I'm not."

"You are. Just a little." Ricky rested an elbow on the table, hand propping up his chin as he watched the man's face. "Why's that?"

"Why's what."

Ricky's let his hand drift from under his chin to give Tinsley a light tap on the tip of his pointy nose. His voice was quiet. "Why are you shy."

Tinsley took a gentle hold of the man's hand, only because his drunk self told him it was normal. Only because. He held it in both his own hands, looking down at it from under heavy lids as he ran a thumb softly across the knuckles. "I'm not."

Ricky smiled, and for once it wasn't mocking. "You're actually very cute. Very... adorable. You go pink when you blush. Like candyfloss."

Tinsley scowled at this, still holding the other man's hand in his, still running his thumb across the soft skin. "Stop making fun of me."

"I'm not! I'm just surprised."

Tinsley lifted his head to look at him, and their noses were almost touching. He swallowed quietly, his gaze running over the other man's face, down to his parted lips, and back up to his eyes. He lightly cupped his face, and he brushed his thumb lightly along the tips of the man's long black lashes to rest on his cheek. He commented on them, mumbling.

"They're like a woman's." He tried to manage the words in his mouth. "Luscious."

Ricky didn't respond. He seemed almost shell-shocked by the gentle touch of the other man. It was entirely unexpected. He swallowed, moving closer against him, his body turned towards him. For the first time in his life, he wondered if this was a dangerous thing to do. He didn't think about it long enough to come up with an answer.

Their lips pressed together, lingering, and even with just a single kiss the two men were breathless. They kept their mouths open, barely centimetres apart, their faces touching as they steadied themselves. Then Ricky kissed him again, pressing their bodies close, his hands holding Tinsley's shoulders and Tinsley's hands cupping his face. He moved ever closer, straddling one of Tinsley's legs, still kissing him, his hands running down his chest. Tinsley took him by the hips, one hand moving to grip the back of his thigh to adjust it so that Ricky was straddling him properly. Ricky's arm hooked around his neck, and he felt Tinsley's arms wrap around his waist, a hand press between his shoulder blades, and their lips hadn't parted even once. Tinsley broke off, but not too far.

"Are you sure they're gone?" he whispered, eyes still closed.

Ricky nodded, pressing his open mouth to Tinsley's again before he'd even finished the gesture. They made out in the empty bar, wrapped up in each other, hands everywhere, thoughts nowhere. Ricky tangled a fist in the other man's hair, guiding him to his neck, and Tinsley let himself be guided. He tucked his fingers behind the collar of Ricky's shirt and pulled it down off his shoulder, the buttons popping open, and he kissed as much of his skin as he could reach. Ricky was panting for breath, his fingers still running through Tinsley's hair, his other hand gripping the back of the booth. He felt Tinsley's hands brush down his back to grip his ass, and he pulled the detective's head back to kiss him on the mouth again, pushing his tongue in, hearing the low moan, feeling it. He pushed his hips against Tinsley's, rolling them back and forth, and Tinsley's scrambled to get him to stop, pushing forwards, their mouths separating. Tinsley panted for breath, his face hidden in the other man's shoulder.

"...Don't do that. Not here."

"Why not."

Tinsley sat back to reply, and he hadn't even made contact with the back of the seat yet when Ricky was on him again, their mouths burning with the friction, Ricky kissing him with an unrelenting passion, his breaths heavy. Tinsley broke away again with a whole lot of effort, his hands gripping Ricky's shoulders to hold him where he was. Ricky was watching his face from under his lashes, waiting. Tinsley took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. He eventually opened his eyes, looking up into Ricky's.

"Come back to mine."

Ricky shook his head. "No. Come back to mine."

"Why?"

"Your place is bugged. If things go wrong, it'd be better if my family don't know we were together."

"So going to yours will help how?"

"My mom is gone for the weekend. No one will see us getting in or out."

Tinsley swallowed, nodding. "Okay."

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tinsley when ricky booped his nose: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/O849g2ctSlw?t=37
> 
> ricky when tinsley touched his face: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/O849g2ctSlw?t=57


	12. Just Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kinda graphic sex (a bit more than my usual sex scenes) but not overly graphic if u get me  
> but yeah also nsfw alert !!

"Your house is like a damn hotel."

"Well we could've done this in _my_ apartment, if you hadn't led the cops there."

Tinsley rolled his eyes, following the shorter man down the hallway. The place was lavish, all dark wood floors and deep red walls and gilt frames with beautiful people inside. It was also quiet, so quiet, and they were whispering to each other, just in case the staff heard. Staff. Yeah, there was staff. Tinsley found it all a bit much. 

"And what if we get caught?"

Ricky threw a dark look over his shoulder at him. "I'll have to kill them." He let the dark silence linger for a few long seconds. Then he beamed at him. "I'm kidding, you idiot. We won't _get_ caught."

Tinsley closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "You know, you're not allowed make jokes like that." He followed up a back stairs that folded on itself a few times, going up and up, all black wood banisters. "I feel like a teenager, doing all this sneaking around."

"I'll get in trouble if I'm caught. There isn't meant to be anyone brought back to this house."

"It's the villain's headquarters, hm?"

"Yeah, it is. Now shush." He put a hand behind him to keep Tinsley where he was, poking his head out into the hallway. Not a peep. "Okay, come on. And be quiet."

They were just at the door when Ricky turned and wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him hard, too impatient to wait any longer. Tinsley fumbled for the door handle, his mind in another world entirely. He was driven back into the room, stumbling a few steps as Ricky swiftly took charge, unbuttoning the detective’s trousers, untucking his shirt, keeping their mouths glued. Tinsley’s brows drew together as Ricky brushed his hands away for the second time; he wasn’t interested in being touched, it seemed, but he did want to do the touching. Tinsley went to grab hold of him again, fingers digging into his arms as he was maneuvered back towards the bed. He was being manhandled, used, blatantly so. He wasn’t too fond of the feeling. At least, he wasn’t fond of being on the receiving end. Ricky pulled his shirt off over his head before opening Tinsley’s in two sharp tugs, still walking him back across the room. Tinsley took hold of his wrists in a tight grip, forcing them to stop walking, feeling Ricky’s body pressing up against his in an attempt to keep them moving. Their mouths finally broke apart, panting for breath. Ricky pushed forwards again, forcing the taller man back another step, seeing Tinsley’s jaw clench. Ricky smiled, breathless.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was sly. “You want to be the one in control, do you?”

Tinsley nodded, looking down his nose into the shorter man’s eyes. He kept his fingers fixed around Ricky’s wrists, even as Ricky said: “Well that’s just too bad. Get onto the bed.”

Tinsley didn’t react for a moment. Then he reached down with one hand on Ricky’s thigh and one on his ass before picking him right up off the ground and settling him around his hips. Ricky’s hands gripped his shoulders, the smile wiped right off his face as Tinsley simply turned them and carried him over to the bed before dropping him back onto it. Ricky propped himself up on his elbows with a touch of indignance, watching as Tinsley finished taking off his shirt before tossing it aside. The detective unbuckled Ricky’s belt before pulling his trousers off, hardly taking a break before he had the man’s underwear off too, all a bit rougher than necessary. Ricky flushed, feeling just a tad vulnerable, but he didn’t take his dark eyes from Tinsley’s. The detective didn’t look away either, he didn’t even spare a glance at the naked body laid out for him. He took off the rest of his own clothes before climbing on top, their eyes still locked, their breaths quiet. Their mouths met, slow at first, Ricky tangling a hand in the other man’s hair to keep their mouths together as he lay back on the bed. The kiss was warm and deep, and Tinsley’s body fit against his as perfectly as he always knew it would. He could feel the man’s hands brushing down his ribs, gripping his waist, thumbs pressing into him, all so gently. Ricky let his head turn aside as he felt the first of many kisses being pushed under his jaw, tongue brushing his skin. He bit on his lip to stay quiet, his hands pushing through Tinsley’s thick hair as the kisses trailed down his neck, down his chest, his stomach, each one as hungry and lingering as the one before. Tinsley brought the other man’s leg to rest over his shoulder, pressing soft kisses along the inside of his thigh, watching Ricky’s face as he did so, watching the way he bit back his moans, the way his back rose off the bed for just a second before it dropped back down as Tinsley pressed a lingering kiss where the man's leg met his hip. He felt the grip tighten in his hair. Tinsley didn’t take his eyes off him even as he took him in his mouth. Ricky inhaled sharply before the beginning of a moan slipped out, but he quickly brought his free hand up and bit on it, his head pushing back into the sheets, his throat bared. Tinsley worked him up, slowly, drawing each moan out bit by bit, and he didn’t feel the smug satisfaction he thought he’d feel. He just felt enthralled, unable to look away from the other man’s flushed face, away from his body, nothing else existed in the world. Ricky’s hand moved from Tinsley’s hair to the headboard, fingers curling around the wrought iron. He was biting on his free hand so hard it hurt, refusing to give in, his breaths shaking. He let out a sigh of relief when Tinsley took his mouth off him to move back up his body, kissing him all over, taking his time with it. Ricky’s eyes fluttered dreamily as he pushed his head back into the pillow, his hand moving back down to run through Tinsley’s hair. He took a fistful, drawing the man up to kiss him on the mouth, their breaths hot and heavy. Ricky rolled them, sitting across his waist, feeling the hands immediately grip his ass hard enough to make him jump. Tinsley grinned, a distracted gesture.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Ricky felt the hands give him another squeeze. Then one of them gave him a sharp slap, making him jump again, smirking despite the flush on his face. “ _Detective_. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“Bit of a habit.”

“Well let me break that habit for you.” Ricky took hold of his hands, bringing them back to rest against the headboard. He bound them there, seeing the glitter in Tinsley’s eyes. “And maybe I can change your preference for being in control too.”

Tinsley just nodded in silence, his eyes not leaving the other man’s face for a second. “Okay.”

Ricky smiled, unashamedly devilish. He reached aside to the bedside locker, taking out the lube before straddling the detective reverse-ways so that his ass was the centre of attention. He spared a knowing smile over his shoulder to see the frustration on Tinsley’s face, seeing his fingers flexing and clenching where they were bound. Tinsley met his gaze with a scowl.

“You really find a way to be a bitch in every situation, you know that?”

“You like it,” said Ricky, applying the lube as he talked. “Don’t bother acting as if you don’t.”

Tinsley didn’t take his eyes off the man’s ass. God, it was perfect. He gave his bindings a subtle tug; they were tight. “Maybe it turns me on a little. Only a little.”

“Sure.” Ricky wasn’t exactly paying attention; he was focused on something much more important. “Now shut up.”

He moved so that he was straddling one of Tinsley’s legs, placing a hand on each of the man’s knees for balance - one in front of him and one behind him - as he settled onto him with a low moan. He kept a grip on both of Tinsley’s legs as he started grinding his hips back and forth, slow and rolling, his eyes closed and mouth parted. He pushed Tinsley’s legs a bit further apart so that he could slide down further onto him, his head tilted right back, throat bared. Tinsley’s heart was skipping multiple beats at a time, his eyes stuck to the sight of Ricky riding him like a toy. Only seconds ago he hadn’t been too fond of the position; it was impersonal, and it was made worse seeing as he had no option to touch him either. But now he saw that it was Ricky putting on a show, not an inch of his body left unseen. And what a body it was. Tinsley gritted his teeth before managing to get out a few words, and he didn’t sound too pleased about them.

“You are so fucking hot. Fuck.”

Ricky didn’t reply as he started picking up the pace, his brows furrowed and his breaths panted. He grinded his hips forwards, rubbing up against Tinsley’s thigh, gripping onto his knee for leverage. He heard the headboard rattle as Tinsley pulled at his bindings, a frustrated groan following. Ricky placed a hand on the man’s stomach for balance, feeling it rising and falling hard with each panted breath. He spared him a sidelong glance; the detective was surprisingly fit under the shirts and jumpers and coats, and leaner than expected. Not bad. Not bad at all. Ricky kept his eyes on him as he rode him hard. Tinsley squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths hissing through his teeth.

“God, you- Fuck me. _Fuck_ me.” He felt entirely owned. He didn’t have even a shred of autonomy in the situation. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared, but with Ricky, he cared a whole hell of a lot. “Fuck me, you- Ah- _Aah-_ ” He gritted his teeth, speaking through them in a snarl. “Fuck me like you mean it, you little slut.”

Ricky didn’t react but to do exactly that. He moved, straddling Tinsley’s hips and placing his hands firm on the bed either side of the man’s torso. He let his head hang, his panted breaths harsh in time with the rocking of his hips. Tinsley’s fingers dug into his own palms for the hundredth time, painfully hard, desperately wishing it was Ricky’s hips he was holding instead. If he would’ve even been able to get a grip on them. He couldn’t for the life of him keep up with the pace the other man had set. Ricky wasn’t just grinding his hips anymore; he was carving them into the other man’s, driving down harder and harder, the bed complaining under them. He sat back, one hand casual by his side, the other braced against the detective’s stomach as he didn’t slow for even a second. Tinsley’s moans scraped out through gritted teeth. Ricky’s gaze found the other man’s bound hands, and he reached forward to untie them. He wanted to feel his hands on him, feel the desperation in the grip. Tinsley delivered.

“Ah- Aah- _Aaaah-_ ” Tinsley raised his head off the bed to glare at the man’s vicious hips, a grimly determined look on his face as he hung onto them, breaths hissing through his teeth. Ricky was riding him like he wanted to break him, the bed creaking loudly, the headboard slamming off the wall. “ _Fuck_ you. Fuck you, you whore.” His head dropped back to the sheets, his teeth gritted in a snarl as he fought to contain his moans. They ripped out of his throat, furious. “God, you _whore_. You fucking- Aaah- AAAH-”

Ricky was watching his face with a savage glint in his eye, his own breaths panted, harsh through his teeth. He sat back into the momentum, hands by his sides, looking down his nose at the struggle clear on the detective's face. Tinsley gave up on trying to hold onto the man's hips; he took hold of his thighs instead, fingers digging in, his eyes squeezed shut and his face flushed and slick with sweat. He managed to force some legible words through his moans.

"S- Slow down." He gritted his teeth, entirely helpless in the situation. "Fuck, I'm gonna come, I- Slow _down_ , you fucking-" He was cut off by his own moan, an angry sound, rough. "Ah, fuck you! Fuck you!"

He grabbed hold of Ricky's hips again, and he would've rolled them if given the chance. Which he wasn't. Ricky continued trying to put him through the bed for another few minutes, and Tinsley propped himself up on an elbow, one hand digging into Ricky’s hip, a fiercely determined glare on his flushed face as he fought the urge to finish. He let out a harsh breath each time Ricky’s hips rocked, back and forth, back and forth. Ricky sat back further onto him and changed the pace, hard and fast, the headboard tap-tap-tapping off the wall, multiple taps a second, rapid, like a machine. Tinsley fell back onto the bed, his back rising off it.

“AAAH-” This was it, he could feel it coming, his heart was jumping. He refused to let go of the man's hips, despite the fact he was just hanging onto them at this point. “I- I- AAAH, FUCK!” He gritted his teeth, his back arching again, and he fought it, he wouldn’t come first, he wouldn’t. “FUCK YOU!”

Ricky leaned forward, pressing a hand to the wall as he slowed. He pushed his hips in lingering circles, just to keep them occupied, his dark eyes still watching Tinsley’s face. Tinsley finally opened his eyes again, and he was panting for breath, his chest heaving. His hands slipped down from Ricky’s hips to his thighs, weak. He swallowed.

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” he panted, eyes heavy-lidded. “Kill me?”

Ricky rested his free hand around Tinsley’s throat before letting it slide down to his chest, feeling the slick sweat on his skin. “You’re lasting longer than I thought you would. I might even say I’m impressed.”

Tinsley wiped a hand down his damp face, catching his breath. “I want to be on top.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Ricky sat back, gripping the man’s legs for balance, settling down again. “Just give me another few minutes and we’ll be done here.”

“Fine, you can stay on top,” said Tinsley, as if he was anyway involved in making the decision. “Just…”

He took hold of the man’s ass, maneuvering him up along his body, and Ricky caught on instantly. He straddled Tinsley’s face, feeling the man’s arms hook around his legs, his fingers dig into his hips, where they belonged. Ricky’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned back, pressing his hands to Tinsley’s chest. He bit on his lip, rocking his hips just a little.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his head tilting aside. “Fuck, that’s- Yeah, right there, right- _Fuck_.”

His brows drew together, his mouth opening to let out a rough moan. He took two fistfuls of Tinsley’s thick hair, his head hanging as he rocked his hips just a bit harder, his mouth still open, his eyes still closed. It felt good. It felt dreamily good. He let out a quiet breath, and a desperate moan accompanied it. His body stiffened, his hips jerking forwards, and he gripped the headboard to stop himself from falling off the other man’s face. He found himself leaning on it in order to stay even remotely upright, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh God.” He tangled one hand in Tinsley’s hair again, feeling the man’s fingers digging into his waist as he helped keep him upright. “Yeah, yeah, I- Aaaah- Fuck, _fuck-_ ” He took a few uneven breaths. “Fuck, you’re good.”

Tinsley rolled them, keeping Ricky’s legs over his shoulders as he pressed kisses down the inside of his thigh, hungry ones. Ricky lifted his head to watch, chest rising and falling slowly. Their eyes were locked as they both paused, breathing heavily. Tinsley took hold of one of his thighs, his other hand moving around to rest on his stomach to keep him still. Then he took him in his mouth, focusing entirely. It took mere seconds before he heard Ricky break.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” Ricky paused for a few panted breaths, a whined moan on each one. His fists clenched against the pillow, bundling up the fabric. “Ah- Ah- Oh _God_ , I- _Aah-_ ”

He twisted and turned, chest heaving, his legs hooking more firmly over Tinsley’s shoulders as the pleasure built. His fingers clawed at the air before they found the iron of the headboard, curling around it, white-knuckled. His hips gave an involuntary jerk, and another, Tinsley’s arms fixing around his legs, keeping him in place. Ricky’s mouth opened, his moans starting quiet and breathless, rapidly growing loud, untamed.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck me!” He gritted his teeth in a snarl, his moans escaping regardless. “Aaah- AAH-”

His thighs pressed in either side of Tinsley’s neck, hard, not that the man seemed to care. Tinsley’s hand dragged down to the man’s ass, gripping it, his other hand busy between his own legs. Ricky went silent, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth still open, but his breath was stuck in his throat. His back rose off the bed, shaking. Then he came with a harsh moan, dropping back down again, going lax. He heard Tinsley finish seconds later, and the man flopped down on the bed beside him, panting for breath. They lay like so for a few minutes, physically and mentally fucked. Tinsley managed to roll onto his back, one hand resting across his eyes. He forced himself to sit upright, tired all over. He searched for the bathroom door, and his face went flat.

"Oh for God's sake."

Ricky's reply was sleepy. "Mm?"

"Your dog, man."

It was sitting in the doorway to the bathroom, a little lump, both back legs out to one side and it's tail wagging. Ricky shrugged, still lying down.

"It's nothing he hasn't seen before."

"Well that's weird."

Ricky scowled at him, also sitting up. "No it's not. He doesn't know."

"Oh he knows. Look at those vacant eyes. Scarred."

Ricky pondered it. "Maybe he does know. It's called doggy style for a reason, I suppose."

Tinsley shook his head with a sigh. "You just- Can I use your shower. Without your weird little dog watching my naked ass."

Ricky lay back down, rolling onto his front. "Sure. I- _What_ are you doing?"

Tinsley kept his hand on the man's ass, just looking at it. "I can't believe I'm touching it. I mean, Chris Evans, eat your heart out." A pause. "Is it real?"

Ricky glared at him, swatting his hand away. "Yes it's real, _pendejo_. Ungrateful."

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you can speak Spanish?"

"No, not really. I can understand it, and I can read it, but I can't speak it too well. My mom can." He propped his head up on his hand. "I hear her arguing with my uncle a lot on the phone. _Pendejo_  just means dumbass."

"No one has ever turned me on by calling me a dumbass before."

"Oh shut up."

Tinsley lay back down, facing him. "Insult me in Spanish, _papi_."

"Absolutely not."

" _Por favor_."

Ricky rolled his eyes. He was rolling his eyes a tremendous amount around this man. "Look, if you're not going to shower, I am."

Tinsley watched him with big eyes as he stood up and stretched out. "What if we showered... together."

Ricky looked over his shoulder at him as he moved towards the bathroom. "What a preposterous idea."

They left Pablo in the bedroom, and Tinsley shut the door firmly. When he turned Ricky was already under the water, in his shower the size of a normal-sized bathroom. Tinsley fit in easily beside him.

"Your bathroom is the size of my apartment."

"I know." Ricky snatched the bottle from Tinsley's hand, squinting at it. "Are you serious? This is conditioner."

"Isn't that like, fancy shampoo?" said Tinsley, still scrubbing it into his hair.

"God, you're an animal."

Tinsley took down another bottle, observing the label from down his pointy nose. "Exfoliating yada yada yada. I mean, come on, Patrick Bateman. You can't possibly need all this stuff."

"I don't think I'll listen to the opinion of someone who thinks conditioner is 'fancy shampoo', but nice try."

"You have a bit of an attitude, don't you."

"Don't act as if you don't like it," grinned Ricky, moving close against him. "Don't you like it?"

Tinsley smiled, a small one. "A little."

The taller man leaned in and kissed him, and one hand cupped Ricky's face, and the other followed the water sliding down his back and gripped his ass, pulling him flush against him. They spent the next half an hour under the hot water, wowing each other in many ways. Pablo waited outside.

* * *

Back in the city, Lucy Goldsworth was meeting with Holly Horsley at a rooftop bar that was located on a building not quite as high as its prices. They were discussing business over their drinks. Lucy was involved with a sparkling cocktail in a tall flute. Holly was nursing a simple gin and tonic. The focus of their current conversation was a certain two men and their uses.

"I'm aware that he was a lawyer?"

Holly nodded with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "Yes, he was. And he could have been a very successful one, but I knew from the start that his heart wasn't in it. Don't get me wrong, Tinsley is a very intelligent man, but he can be a right son of a bitch, for lack of a better description. As a lawyer, he was a disaster. But as a private detective, he's invaluable."

"I completely understand. I tried to get my son interested in the financial aspect of what I do, but he just couldn't care less." Lucy shrugged, helpless. "He just wants danger. He thrives in it. He wants action and thrills but he was getting too confident in himself. Half of me wants to thank Tinsley for knocking him off his pedestal. He needed it."

"But how do you think they'd work? As a team?"

Lucy pursed her lips. "Difficult to say. Perhaps we should introduce them to each other more formally."

Holly shook her head. "No, Tinsley doesn't do formalities. He despises them."

"Ah, a shame."

"Perhaps we inform them of the job and then introduce them? They've probably already taken a dislike to each other, due to the drama of the past few weeks."

Lucy's face was apologetic. "I'm sorry for the stabbing. I didn't know he was going to do that."

Holly raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Does he do that a lot?"

"...Only when provoked."

"Oh, I have _no_ doubt that Tinsley provoked him."

Lucy took a sip of her drink, pensive. "My confidence in your private detective has... dwindled quite a bit."

"Understandable." Holly lit a cigarette, casual. "But I'm not a woman to waste my time, and he never wastes my time. And he is willing to do almost anything to get me an answer."

"So he would be able to find out what I want to find out."

"I can give you my word." Another raised eyebrow. "As long as he'll have protection."

"My son won't appreciate being a bodyguard, but I'm sure I can convince him." She smiled. "Will we introduce them at your office?"

"Tomorrow night at nine."

"Excellent."

* * *

Tinsley woke slowly, and he was still exhausted. He spared a groggy look at the man asleep beside him. That was good. He was still asleep. Now was the time for Tinsley to get dressed nice and quiet and sneak out the nearest exit and never be seen again. He was tucking his shirt into his trousers when he saw him in the mirror. Ricky was sat upright with his arms folded and a dark eyebrow raised, clearly unimpressed, although also somewhat amused. Tinsley gave a small wave in the mirror, just a rise and fall of his fingers.

"Morning."

"Oh no, please continue sneaking around my room in slow-motion. It's very entertaining."

"...I didn't want to wake you?"

"How considerate." Ricky fetched his robe from the end of the bed and slipped it on, tying it around his waist. "You can just leave. I won't exactly be hurt."

Tinsley rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. Good. I guess I will leave now."

"Sure." Ricky checked his phone for the time; a coffee was usually brought up to his room at around nine, and it was currently ten to. "You can have a coffee here before you go. Unless you think that's weird."

Tinsley's reflexes said to run, but in all honesty, he was craving a coffee in that moment. "Cool. Yeah. Sounds good."

He didn't quite know what to do with himself then. He stood where he was as Ricky went about his morning, washing his face and brushing his hair and all these little bits and pieces. Tinsley stared at the dog, which was sitting on the end of the bed. The dog stared back. Tinsley glanced at the door, and his eyes landed on the item of clothing hanging on the hook.

"You have a fur coat?" Tinsley held it in his hands, a delighted smile on his face. "You're a, how they say, a classy broad."

Ricky rolled his eyes, trying to stop himself from smiling as he watched Tinsley shrug it on around his shoulders. "It's my mom's."

"Grandma, it's me." Tinsley let it drop off him with a flourish, holding an imaginary cigarette, his other hand on his hip in a lax feminine stance. "...Anastasia."

"I hate you."

"This here is a goldmine," said Tinsley, picking it back up and putting it on properly this time. "Wait, let's roleplay. I'll be Carol and you'll be Therese."

"Absolutely not."

"My angel," gushed Tinsley, cupping the shorter man's face and pulling him forwards a step. "Flung out of space."

Ricky rolled his eyes again, his cheeks squished together. "No way. Nu-uh."

"You probably just want to be the star." Tinsley hugged the coat around him with a flair. "Well I have the coat. So too bad."

"I don't  _need_  the coat." Ricky wandered around him, giving him a lingering look, with just enough suggestion for Tinsley to follow him with his eyes. "Jack."

Tinsley turned to face him, looking just a bit swallowed up in the coat. "Jack?"

Ricky smiled at him, sly. He slowly undid the belt of his robe, letting the smooth fabric slide off him and to the floor. "I want you to paint me like one of your French girls."

Tinsley didn't laugh. He stared at him, dumbfounded. Then he hurried over and picked him up and carried him right back to the bed, their mouths already together again, arms wrapped around each other. Just one more time. Just the once. It was still technically the one night. But the coffees arrived before Tinsley could even get out of his shirt. It would have to be postponed. He followed Ricky out to the balcony, where the man offered him a cigarette. Tinsley wasn't quite sure what his part was here. Usually it was him who was the casual one after sex. It seemed he was being out-casualed. He lit the cigarette and sat back with his legs crossed. The city was in the distance, and it was a bright and sunny morning, and he felt altogether very much satisfied.

"I can't believe you just live like this." Tinsley gestured all around him. "I mean, how rich are you?"

Ricky shrugged. "Rich enough."

"And it's just you and your mom?"

"Oh, aunts and uncles and stuff stay every now and then. But I'm afraid I can't get more detailed than that." He tapped the ash from his cigarette, taking a mouthful of coffee. "Not to sound too Caucasian, but you were really good last night. Like, really good."

Tinsley went just a bit red. "Thanks, I guess. You were too?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we're pretty... compatible."

"Sure."

Ricky didn't look at him. He just faced ahead, his gaze lowered under his long lashes. "I'd like it to become a regular thing."

"Oh." Tinsley's heart leaped a mile. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Great."

That seemed to be that. Tinsley felt like they'd just closed a business deal, and that they should've shook hands to seal it. He felt pretty lucky indeed, and pretty proud of himself. He'd had all sorts of sex, but none quite like the type he'd had all night. Especially the shower. _Especially_ the shower. He pulled at his collar just thinking about it. He looked at Ricky.

"Where else do you keep lube? And be honest."

Ricky grinned, stirring his drink. "Guess."

"Your back pocket."

"Hilarious." Ricky gave him a wry look. "But no. Try again."

Tinsley seriously pondered it, linking his hands on his stomach as he sat back. "...Your car?"

"Bingo."

"Careful. You might become the man of my dreams."

Ricky kept his gaze on his coffee, bringing it to his lips. "Do you have one?"

Tinsley tapped his cigarette into the ashtray between them. "A what?"

Ricky shrugged. "A dream man. Or a dream person. Whatever."

Tinsley sat back, taking a drag on his cigarette, like all the great thinkers of the past. "You mean do I believe in 'the one'?"

"Sure. Yeah."

He shook his head. "No." He raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me _you_ do."

Ricky shook his head too. "No. I can't."

"Job?"

"Yeah."

"Well to me, it's just statistically impossible." He shrugged. "There's seven billion people on the planet. There's probably multiple 'the ones' out there. Risky game to play, isn't it. I mean, what if you get with 'the one', and then another 'the one' comes along? Disaster."

"Good. Good. Because..." He chewed on his lip for a second, avoiding the other man's eyes. "Because we're just having sex, right? That's all."

Tinsley blinked at him. "Yeah. Yeah, that's all."

"Because like, I know we had fun and we were messing and stuff, but-"

"No! Yeah. We're just... hanging out."

"Yeah. Like friends."

"Sure." Tinsley nodded, and shrugged his shoulders, and folded his arms, and unfolded them. "Just friends. Duh. Goes without saying."

"Cool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now it is time for the Emotional Torture


End file.
